


Take the long way home

by Breathlessmoon



Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017), Riverdale (TV 2017) RPF
Genre: Abandonment, Abuse, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Bad Parenting, Bullying, Depression, Drama, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Drama, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Heartbreak, Hospitalization, Hurt Jughead Jones, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jughead Jones Needs a Hug, Loneliness, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Poverty, Psychological Trauma, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, There will be some positive stuff too I promise!, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 60,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29070000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breathlessmoon/pseuds/Breathlessmoon
Summary: After his dad is cleared of the Blossom murder and released from prison, Jughead moves back to Sunnyside trailer park to live with him. FP has promised to clean up his act ‘for real this time’ and bring the family back together. His son truly wants to believe in him.At first, things are pretty great; FP stops drinking, leaves the Serpents and gets a job at Pop’s. There’s even food on the table and a small budget put aside for things like heating their thinly insulated walls and maybe a small family vacation somewhere nearby, some day.But what happens when FP faces an unforeseen challenge and falls even further than previous times, dragging his son along in his descent to hell?---Or FP doesn’t keep his promises and Jughead suffers terrible consequences.
Comments: 80
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is an AU set across seasons 1 & 2 – I’ve intentionally mixed up a few elements because it was convenient for my storyline, so don’t look for matching events. Some of characters/situations are different here, ie FP isn’t the nicest guy, Hal Cooper isn’t the Blackhood and Hiram isn’t the big baddie we know him to be (he’s no saint either though). This is definitely more of a psychological/mental-health slow burn rather than an action-packed situation.  
> Also I should mention that English isn’t my first language so there might be a tiny bit of language weirdness going on, but hopefully it won’t be too noticeable. Please keep an open mind, as it won’t be perfect.  
> Just to say this here once and for all as I’ve noticed other people state it (this is my first time writing a fanfiction): I own absolutely nothing of the setting and Riverdale/Archiecomics characters… Just my plot, dialogues and a few OCs along the way. This applies to all chapters.
> 
> Bear in mind that is not for the faint-hearted, so if you are sensitive to violence and depression depictions then maybe this isn’t the best story for you.  
> I'll update as often as I can and promise that won't leave this unfinished! I already know my ending so there is a point to it all...
> 
> Now buckle up, kids.

If anyone had asked the Riverdale High gang to describe their friend Jughead Jones in a couple of words, the answers would have most likely varied, depending on the person.

Archie Andrews’ first comment would have been ‘private… but also extremely goofy’, because in all his years of knowing the dark-haired slim boy, he could recall so many instances when they had both ended up in stitches over _nothing_ while playing video games up in his room, usually as a result of the sarcastic puns his ‘brother’ - as he loved to call Jughead - had initiated.

Veronica Lodge would have said ‘brooding in a very mysterious way, like an English classic lit’ protagonist or a beatnik poet _._ ’ She didn’t know him all that well as she had only moved to _The Town With Pep_ a few months before, but she had not failed to notice his quiet sensitivity and observer stance, and had already come to greatly appreciate his nuanced personality.

Kevin Keller would have immediately chuckled and replied ‘the most imperturbable geek in the universe', proceeding to recount the many lunch breaks when Jughead had seemed somewhat uninterested in the conversation, off to another world of his own, only to jump in unexpectedly and contribute with a swift quote from a film or a book that matched the current topic to perfection - much to everyone’s amusement and delight.

Finally Betty Cooper would have smiled and whispered ‘the smartest person I’ve ever known’. She would point out that Jughead never advertised his good grades and studiousness because he really wasn’t a showoff - also because he secretly feared being further singled out and chastised by the likes of Reggie Mantle or other school loudmouths - but Betty had always believed him to be precocious. And even before they’d started dating she knew that he would go _very_ far one day. ‘Oh and let’s not forget, the most handsome boy in this town!’ She’d add with a blush.

The one thing the entire gang, school staff and other adjacent acquaintances would have all immediately agreed upon, was how big a heart Jughead really had.

They’d mention the many times he had volunteered to help at the Blue and Gold, sacrificed his needs in favor of his little sister’s, and generally changed his plans to accommodate everyone else’s.

And along with that, everyone would undoubtedly revere the fact that he was also big at forgiving. He would _never_ hold a grudge against anyone, not even the football team who loved to taunt him unnecessarily in their time of boredom. Which was often.

Really, there was no room for debate in the matter; Jughead Jones had one of the biggest hearts Riverdale had ever known.

Which is probably why, when FP Jones came out of jail - once exonerated of Jason Blossom’s murder - and asked his son to come back and live with him, no one was surprised in the least that his answer was yes.

They had even expected it, after all the efforts Jughead had personally gone through to clear his dad’s name and all the time he spent visiting him while FP was still locked up, just showing up randomly with a burger or two ‘for moral support’.

Jughead had moved out _months_ before the whole Blossom debacle, when things had slid to a palpable state of uncomfortableness in the tired walls of Sunnyside trailer park… He had first established himself – along with the make-believe mirage of a home - at the Twilight Drive-In, then moved into a forgotten closet at Riverdale High when the outdoor cinema got shut down permanently, and had been ultimately taken in by the Andrews when his precarious situation was accidentally uncovered by Archie.

The invitation to stay _indefinitely_ was extended by Fred, Archie’s dad and former family friend of the Jones’, but after all of FP’s trial and tribulations, Jughead felt that he needed to give his old man another chance.

He needed to forget and forgive.

 _Forget_ that his mother had packed up their meagre valuables and his little sister to Toledo, without so much as asking him if he wanted to join, and _forgive_ that in the aftermath of their departure his father had kind of ‘lost it’ and gone completely off the rails.

‘But I give you my word!’ FP had declared solemnly on his day out of prison. ‘I’m going to clean up my act _for real_ this time. Life is too short and being locked-up has made me realize so many important things. I’m going to make big changes, go straight, get a proper job and get your mom and Jellybean back here with us.’

FP’s enthusiasm was tangible and infectious.

His newfound soberness was also encouraging and finished to convince his son entirely. When Jughead looked at his father and the renewed determination on his face, he saw glimpses of the person he had been years before, and wanted nothing more than to believe in FP’s success.

Because for as long as he could remember, Jughead had longed for a different family environment. One that resembled other people’s, like maybe Archie’s or Betty’s.

Life at Sunnyside had always been tricky, to say the least. It was nothing like on the other side of town, on Elm Street.

His parents were hot and cold, oil and vinegar, cat and dog. Going years back, there had been money and alcohol problems, sequences of worries and frustration from one or the other, and long long stretches of dread, when they would communicate solely through him as if he was the designated mediator of their tumultuous relationship.

His little sister Jellybean was oblivious to all of this. She was much younger and while both parents never seemed to have a problem dragging their son into any argument, _he_ had been the one pleading against doing the same thing to her. Trying to protect her innocence.

And somehow, by some kind of miracle, that message had stuck. Gladys was more patient around her daughter, and FP just went along. They’d even manage to keep the screaming matches for when she was fast asleep – always so imperturbably - or out of the house. And when FP would show up too drunk which might have raised suspicions from their youngest, Gladys would send him right back to the Whyte Wyrm or the Serpent camp, where he could sleep off the alcohol and nurse his hangover.

Jughead, on his side, had witnessed all of it.

He remembered with a crystal clarity the unkindness of their words, the fear that lingered in their threats and the darkness of their clouded judgements. He had watched powerlessly as their fights would sometimes get physical and would close his eyes, rock himself to sleep, hoping for better days to come.

And sometimes they did.

As much as Gladys and FP Jones were different and perhaps from an outside perspective, _incompatible_ , there were also times when it actually worked between them.

FP would stop drinking, would get a new job somewhere that didn’t involve leather jackets and heavy bikes, and things would feel OK for awhile. A numbing sense of quietude would settle in the trailer, a handful of family meals would be shared, and for a few weeks both parents and their son would _breathe_ , enjoying the innocent babbling and irresistible laughter of the youngest Jones.

And Jughead’s big heart would simply forget and forgive that things weren’t always like this.

Therefore, when FP told his son that he was going to work very hard and get the family back together, it made a certain amount of sense to him.

It _was_ possible to work things out, he had seen it.

When his dad went into a rather emotional speech about his ‘wakeup call’ and wanting to turn his life around, Jughead drank his words like they were the sweetest milk he’d ever tasted. He lit up entirely and jumped on board immediately without giving it a second thought, putting all judgement aside and rallying behind FP like his biggest supporter.

There was a new promise, there was a renewed excitement… There was so much to do. The Jones family was getting its much needed _start over._

The next day, FP went around town to enquire about jobs and almost immediately secured a position at Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe, which happened to be one of Jughead’s favorite places in the world.

When the proud father turned up that evening with the announcement, as well as a bag full of burgers and fries, Jughead had a great feeling. He even felt his shoulders relax slightly from the wound-up tight position they had been locked in for _months._

Of course, Jughead knew Pop Tate to be a man of many kindnesses, remembering how he had handed him over with free food more times than he really wanted to admit in his darkest days.

‘Leftovers,’ the old man would literally jump at the justification when Jughead raised an eyebrow with disapproval, ‘I don’t like wasting, kid! Help me out here, will you?’

So perhaps this was yet another indirect favor to Jughead? Or maybe - _most likely_ he wanted to think - just as Jughead believed in his father, someone else was seeing the new light in FP Jones’ eyes.

When he went to bed that evening - in the bedroom, as his father insisted that he should be the one taking the couch from now on - Jughead sank into the worn mattress with a happy heart, and let a long sigh of relief escape his lips.

He knew that nothing was going to be easy and that there would be bumps in the road, but even with these thoughts in mind he felt something strange that he hadn’t dared fathom for so long… Something resembling _hope_.

\---

‘Pop’s, huh?’ Archie had smiled so wide, knowing how much his best friend loved the place. ‘That’s great news Jug!’

‘Wow Juggie, this is fantastic.’ Followed Betty with a peck on the cheek. ‘That was so quick, your dad is _on it_.’

‘What are we discussing guys?’ Kevin settled his lunch tray next to them.

‘FP’s new job at Pop’s.’ Informed Veronica, also enjoying the conversation.

‘Well, well,’ Kevin smirked. ‘I mean, it’s _mostly_ good news. Although you may want to watch your waistline if your dad comes back with takeaways every night.’

‘Nonsense Keller!’ Archie was quick to defend. ‘You know this kid could literally chuck down five burgers per meal and would still look like a skinny little prick.’

‘Ah! We’ll find out, won’t we?’ Jughead joked back with a hint of pride while pulling his History book out of his bag. ‘Now, who needs help with their essay on the Louisiana Purchase?’

After lunch Jughead and Betty made a quick stop by the Blue & Gold office for a bit of privacy from the group.

‘It’s been _great_.’ Jughead started vigorously. ‘I mean it’s only been four days, but so far everything has been pretty smooth sailing.’

‘I’m so happy Juggie, you deserve this.’ Betty was sat at her desk, enjoying the smile on her boyfriend’s face that had definitely been missing for quite some time.

‘He wants to see you. He wants to invite you over for dinner. You know, once we’ve mastered some palatable recipes.’

‘Aw that’s so sweet. I’ll come, of course.’

Something in Betty was stirring though, something that might have sounded like the word _caution_ if she had voiced it. And perhaps Jughead could feel it, because he suddenly felt a need to keep justifying.

‘You should see him Betts, he’s different. He’s cleaned up the whole trailer, stocked up all the kitchen cupboards and he is making plans. _Plans_ Betty. Like going on a family vacation, and moving out to a better house one day.’

‘Wow, slow down Jug.’ Her tone was slightly alarmed. ‘It’s great, and don’t get me wrong I’m _so_ happy for you guys… I want to get excited too. But moving out to a better place is far in the future. Let’s take it one step at a time, OK?’

Jughead remained silent, eyes to the floor. He was neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

‘Please Juggie, remember that not that long ago when you got taken into the police station for questioning over Jason’s murder, he couldn’t be found anywhere to come and help. He showed up _hours_ later stinking of booze and wanting to make a fuss.’

‘That was before _._ ’ Why couldn’t Betty be a little more supportive right now?

‘Before what, Jughead?’ Someone needed to temper his hopes. Not that they were misplaced but she didn’t want him to be disappointed. She’d seen it too many times, and FP needed to earn her trust. Jughead seemed too easily ready to give it to him.

‘Before he was almost locked-up for the rest of his life over a crime he _didn’t_ commit and had an awakening.’

Jughead’s shoulders had tensed and Betty walked towards him, putting her hands on each of his arms to try and smooth the electricity.

‘I know Juggie, I know.’ She softened her voice considerably. She knew what he needed most right now was affirmation. ‘I just don’t want to see you get hurt. I’m all for this new version of FP, and the grand plans he’s got for the two of you. _Believe me_. But we should take it one day at a time, let him catch his breath and see where this all goes. That’s all I’m asking.’

Jughead nodded. He stood tall and enveloped her in a hug.

‘OK.’ His voice was humble, like a whisper. ‘But can we just skip to when you come over and have that dinner already?’ He said, surrendering to her logic.

‘Hmm yes, I think we can make that happen.’ She replied softly. That seemed to be an acceptable next step.

Over the course of the next two weeks, not a huge amount happened in Sunnyside. Days passed, each exactly the same as the last, morphing into a quiet routine. Perhaps it would have seemed almost too quiet for some, but Jughead was too happy about the uneventfulness to complain about this new - almost suburban - lifestyle.

Every time he went to bed, he subconsciously counted his blessings. He wouldn’t fall completely asleep until FP had made it home, which was usually late as his position as the newest employee of Pop’s meant that he’d been stuck with most of the night shifts nobody else wanted.

But Jughead didn’t mind.

There had been many times in his life when sleep itself was a luxury and he’d had far more preoccupying thoughts preventing him from closing his eyes at night. Like wondering if anyone was incongruously going to break into the drive-in and find him completely powerless in his makeshift cot. Or regularly going to bed without any dinner – and sometimes without lunch either - being kept awake by the rumbling of his stomach until it understood there would be nothing coming and finally shut itself down in disappointment.

Therefore waiting for the soft click of the front door as it closed - and staying alert to other muffled sounds to make sure none of them resembled a clink of glass - didn’t seem like such a terrible task. And every time Jughead saw the light underneath his bedroom door go off in this uneventful manner, a small sense of victory and appeasement sank further into his bones.

 _Then finally_ he could let himself drift off peacefully to the enchanting land of Morpheus.

\---

On a regular Tuesday afternoon, while everyone was discussing the upcoming football game and the Vixen’s newest routine in the student lounge, one of the ladies from the Administration Office popped her head in and said;

‘Jughead Jones, Principle Weatherbee wants to see you now.’

That managed to shut the whole group up.

A few looks went around the room and Jughead frowned slightly, eyes to the ground. That _couldn’t_ be positive news. He felt his stomach tighten as he grabbed his bag and stood up.

‘Want me to come with?’ Archie’s offer was spontaneous, yet with a perceivable hint of worry. The exact same thought about this being no good omen had clearly gone through his mind.

‘Nah, no need. It’s probably to reprimand me about something scandalous I wrote in the Blue & Gold.’ Jughead deflected, his voice slightly giving away the fact that he didn’t believe his own words.

Betty didn’t either. She immediately thought that she had read all the articles he’d written for the last issue and none were remotely shocking. She automatically got up and followed.

‘It’s fine Betts, really.’ Jughead mouthed. His eyes were telling a different story.

‘Oh I was heading that way, I’ll just wait for you in the hallway.’ If anyone was going to be there for him, it had to be her.

‘Mister Jones, please take a seat.’ The middle-aged man gestured from his Principle’s chair.

Jughead wanted to scream ' _cut the chase, what’s going on?'_ but quietly obliged instead. He was a polite kid. Manners made him feel more adequate.

‘Your recent situation has come to my attention.’ Principle Weatherbee started.

He was overall a pretty nice man. Not overly involved but not uncaring either. Sort of neutral.

‘What do you mean, my _recent situation_?’ This was a bit unnerving.

‘Well, that you have moved back in with your father and therefore, administratively speaking, you shouldn’t be attending this school. Your area falls under the district of Southside High.’

Oh. Crap.

‘I mean…’ Jughead wasn’t too sure what answer to give. This had crossed his mind many times before but they’d always left him alone. ‘I’ve only been living with the Andrews on the Northside for a few months, but I was living in Sunnyside for a lot longer before that and it’s never been a problem.’

Good one. It was true. No one had ever brought it up.

‘I know son, but it was an error back then too. An _administrative anomaly_.’

It’s never good when someone calls you _son_ , is it? It feels a bit condescending. Like a specific type of authority someone feels they have over you. To belittle you. At least Jughead thought so.

‘What does that mean though? I’ve started the year here with teachers whom I know and like. I can’t just get up and go now, can I?’

‘It gives me no pleasure to tell you this Forsythe, as you are one of our best students and - dare I say - bring our grade average up by quite a bit… But I have no other choice than to ask you to transfer. If we are audited by the state agents, I’d have to explain why we have more students than we are meant to. We’d be fined and we can’t afford this. I hope you understand.’

Jughead’s heart sank.

‘Is there anything we can do about this? If I help with the school’s average, maybe there is some kind of derogation or scholarship?’

‘Unfortunately there is no such thing. And the state would probably advocate relocating you to Southside anyway, because not only it is the rule, but also because their average is far lower than ours, so you’d help bringing it up.’

Oh great. Not only Jughead was going to be ripped away from his friends, but he was also going to attend a failing school. _Exactly what he needed_.

‘But surely there are student ‘displaced’ in other institutions… Can’t I pay for an out-of-district attendance fee or something? Wouldn’t that help with the school finances?’

‘You could, but it’s a few thousands per year. Close to ten.’ Principle Weatherbee seemed to be entertaining the idea for a minute. As if Jughead could come up with that kind of money.

But no math was needed here; he had three years left of high school including this one, there was no way he could come up with $30,000.

He felt his throat close up a bit. The very idea of Southside High made him queasy.

‘Look at the silver lining son, you’ve been attending Riverdale High for free a few more years than you should have. It's a win in itself. I hope that you will keep our values of diligence and exemplarity in mind as a guidance in the future.’

‘When do I have to go?!’

‘From next Monday.’

Jughead’s eyes were firmly glued to the ground as his friends heard and fought the news one by one.

‘So unfair.’

‘Surely they can’t force you?’

‘It’s messed up. You’re one of, if not _the_ best student here. Certainly in our class.’

‘We’ve got to do something Jug! We can’t just accept this.’ While everyone was slumping heavily on the old couches of the student lounge, Archie stood tall with his arms crossed and fists clenched as if he was ready for a battle.

‘ _What_ Arch’?’ Jughead’s tone was suddenly loud and defensive. ‘What exactly do you propose we do? The rule is the rule. Weatherbee isn’t going to make an exception, he made this _very_ clear.’

Jughead was very careful not to mention the $10,000 per year as he knew that Veronica would probably jump in and offer to pay. It would only be meant as a nice intention, but him and his dad were not a charity case.

‘But Jug, you’ve been here all your life. You’ve been _with us_ all your life.’ Archie’s posture fell slightly in disbelief as he processed the news and his friend’s resigned reaction. He honestly couldn’t understand why Jughead was so passive about it.

‘If you need to be on the Northside in order to stay in school here, you could come back to live with me and my dad?’

‘No, I can’t.’

‘Come on Jug, think about it.’

A few side glances bounced around the room. It wasn’t so far-fetched to the rest of them.

‘Archie. Can you leave it, please?’ Jughead sighed heavily.

‘FP would understand that Riverdale High is the better school, it’s your future at stake.’

‘ _No_ Arch’, I am not leaving him.’

His resolution was met with Archie’s infuriation.

‘Why not Jug, what has _he_ ever done for you?’

Oof. That wasn’t fair.

Jughead grabbed his bag hastily, got up with more energy than required and headed for the door. His best friend immediately went after him.

‘Wait up Jug, I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. I’m just worried that this isn’t a very good idea. It’s a lot of changes in a very short time. Just when you were finally starting to settle.’

It took only a tentative smile from the golden redhead boy and all was forgiven.

‘Don’t worry about it, I’m not mad at you… Just the situation, it really sucks. And being called an _administrative anomaly_ was a bit much if I’m honest. But I won’t leave him, not now. Everything will be fine, you’ll see. And if their average is really that low then I’ll fare even better. It’ll help me get that merit scholarship for college, and we both know I need that.’

‘Ok bud. If you say so.’ Archie searched for Jughead’s fleeing eyes. ‘Just promise me you’ll look after yourself, OK?’

A quick hug sealed that vow.

‘Yes, _dad_.’

Then some much needed laughs ensued. It was going to be fine, it _had_ to be.

‘It’s not like you’re going to get rid of me that easily anyway, I’ve got plenty of reasons to come back to Elm Street.’

‘Yeah,’ teased Archie, ‘the biggest one named Betty Cooper. Don’t try and make me feel important or anything.’

‘Exactly.’


	2. Chapter 2

The following days, Jughead patiently disarmed any attempt by said Betty Cooper to engage in a ‘coup’ against Riverdale High’s executive team in hopes to overrule the decision made on his case.

Such rebellion would have been utterly pointless, regardless of how sweet the intentions were. Plus Betty had a lot going on. _A lot._ More than Jughead, he was sure of it.

Indeed, following her sister’s disappearance and reappearance with Jason Blossom’s unborn twins, she was finding herself volunteering hours of her time for counseling and preparing for the much-anticipated arrival of the babies. On top of that, she had launched a new investigation into the newest threat which was shaking Riverdale to its very core; the Blackhood murderer.

A mysterious killer who was acting seemingly alone had been terrorizing the very clean streets of the Northside in a so-called mission to make them _even cleaner._ As per her regular Nancy Drew habits, Betty had taken it upon herself to follow the trail of bread crumbs he’d left in his path and hoped to expose the true face of this monstruous criminal.

Jughead had offered to help – naturally - but she had answered that he should take the time to get settled in first. At home with FP, and at the new school.

The transfer was coming up in just a couple of days, which unlike he was claiming to anyone who cared to ask, was actually building up inside Jughead like a constantly humming sense of anxiety.

Upon hearing the news of his son’s transfer, FP had padded him on the shoulder and said;

‘Ah, nothing you can’t survive boy. I bet you’ll be the smartest kid the school has ever seen.’

This had been meant as a compliment intended to reassure Jughead, but had actually managed to have the exact opposite effect. Even in Riverdale High, he’d been targeted by the football team who didn’t like nerds, thinkers, or anyone better equipped - intellectually speaking.

Over the years, he’d found himself countless times in the path of their diminishing pranks, and while he had managed to get over most of the insults, pushes and overall humiliation, he had a funny feeling that this might be a little harder at Southside High.

Indeed, its student population had a reputation for being messy, ruthless and borderline violent at times, everything that Jughead knew to be at the antipodes of his own philosophy.

He’d also heard that gangs ruled most of the school. _Actual gangs._ Teachers constantly feared to be harassed or to find themselves in any situations that would escalate into their dismissal, so they apparently let rival groups jab each other with no form of reprobation other than empty threats of detention.

 _Exactly the sort of atmosphere Jughead needed._ Said no one, ever.

The night before his first day, he laid wide awake for hours with a knot in his stomach and uncontrollable sweat in the palm of his hands.

‘It’s all worth it.’ He reminded himself. ‘For Dad, Mom, JB…’

Jughead tried to go over all the good things to come. His heart was still pounding a little too much for his liking and in an attempt to calm it he let his mind drift off to the idea of the new house – hopefully on the Northside – against Betty’s advice, and he let himself envision what Christmas could potentially look like in the future, with a warm fireplace and his beloved friends and family around a table full of food.

It didn’t quite trick his brain into going to sleep but did manage to take _some_ of the pressure off, at least in progressive waves.

Five minutes before his alarm was due to ring, he shut it off and tip-toed to the shower, not wanting to wake FP up.

\---

He received several texts throughout the day, asking how everything was – Archie and Kevin - and checking up on how he was feeling – Betty and Veronica – which he politely answered in the most uplifting manner possible.

 _No_ , the metal detectors at the entrance of school weren’t off-putting at all, and _yes_ everyone seemed to be lovely and well-behaved. _No_ , he hadn’t received any weird glances from all sides and _yes_ everyone had welcomed him with kind and encouraging words. _No_ , no one had shoved him into a water fountain as he looked absently for his next class and _yes_ he was given a positively stellar tour of the facilities by a nice girl with pink hair who _no_ , did not belong to a gang. _Yes_ an actual gang.

He left that last part out. Well, all of the _‘too real’_ parts actually.

He fielded questions with a surprising ease. There was no point raising any concerns as those wouldn’t lead to him moving back to Riverdale High anyway.

And he was fine, _resourceful._

Which is exactly what he had told the pink-haired girl – Toni was her name - when she casually suggested that he joined her gang for protection.

‘Thank you very much but I’ll pass.’ He had swiftly responded.

He knew all about the Southside Serpents as his dad used to be one, and secretly admonished them for some of the Jones’ family woes.

It was true that his dad did have a natural tendency for addictions, which couldn't be put on them, but these would have most definitely been amplified and accelerated in an environment like theirs, full of angst and peer pressure.

So they were not entirely blameless for some of the shit that had happened to him, and he was very intent on staying as far away from them as he possibly could.

He didn’t want to - _couldn’t even_ – make the same mistakes as FP.

If alcoholism ran in his veins through the cruel path of hereditation, Jughead needed to be smarter and avoid all temptations. Not that he didn’t have self-control nor couldn’t be trusted if he found himself near a drink, but surroundings and habits had to be key factors, he thought. So why tempt it?

Plus, he didn’t like the idea of anything illegal. All he wanted to do was to work really hard, get into a good college and _leave_ Riverdale. He’d come back to visit of course, and wouldn’t act all almighty once he’d reach a new – more secure - status in life, but he loathed the lifestyle that he was almost certainly promised if he didn’t get the _heck out_ in due course.

So putting his head down, minding his own business and _not_ getting mixed up in gang dealings seemed to be the finest idea.

\---

The first week went unexpectedly well. Jughead was pleased to find out that he was left relatively alone, apart from a few Serpents approaching him and singing FP’s praises with a request that he joins too, echoing Toni’s invitation.

While he wasn’t about to change his tune and kept politely declining, it was surprisingly nice to be sought after and to hear a very different aspect of his father’s past.

There FP was respected - revered even - and the Jones name carried substance rather than shame, which was the only thing Jughead was used to on the Northside.

That was something he looked forward to telling Betty, whom he was seeing along with the rest of the gang that Saturday afternoon at Pop’s for a quick catch up and debrief on these first few days.

As he got ready and threw on a freshly cleaned pair of jeans – his favorite black ones -, Jughead couldn’t help but notice they felt a little more snug than usual. He looked at himself up and down in the mirror and chuckled, remembering Kevin’s funny prediction.

Still smiling at the thought, he pulled out his mom’s old scale from underneath the sink and swiftly hopped on it.

142 pounds.

Huh. He’d gained 11 pounds since the annual checkup by the Riverdale school nurse at the beginning of the year.

He stared at his reflection again and couldn’t help but feel a little proud.

The nurse had given him a rather lengthy speech about him being at the lower end of the recommended weight for his age and size, and needing a more appropriate diet with enough calories and protein to keep healthy. She’d even casually printed a few pages of food-related advice ‘for him to take home’, as if Jughead would be able to procure 3 meals - _every single day, was she insane? -_ for himself and pay for all the colorful and varied ingredients the article described. She’d strongly suggested that he gain a minimum of 15 pounds and he had subsequently avoided her for _weeks_ , so that he wouldn’t have to explain that he lived in an outdoor cinema hut, and later in a disused cupboard just a few feet away from her office in Riverdale High. And that he went to bed hungry most nights, elucidating the mystery of his small frame.

Now months later he had a roof - _albeit thin_ \- over his head again, and enough on his plate to attempt catching up with his age group statistics.

To be fair he still had a margin of improvement – Archie and Kevin had at the very least a good 20 pounds on him – but the new number on the scale helped making him feel a little more adequate. A little more confident in his own skin and jeans. And perhaps if he could manage to get a little bit bigger, it would dissuade potential bullies to mess with him.

Wouldn’t that be _great?_

He made a mental note to brag to the guys and ask for a few workout tips, before proceeding to go and meet with them at the diner.

\---

‘You look great, Jug!’ Betty smiled as she placed both hands on his waist, as if she’d guessed his internal dialogue. Maybe she was seeing it too?

He offered a smile and a kiss in response. He’d really missed her this week.

While waiting for the rest of the gang, she filled him in with new Blackhood information. Jughead listened carefully, and offered a few views to each of the details she laid out in front of him. He wished he could participate to the effort, and he really didn’t like the idea of Betty snooping around on her own.

‘It’s perfectly fine, honestly.’ _It really was,_ she thought. And even if it wasn’t she didn’t want to burden her boyfriend. Focusing on FP’s recovery was all Jughead should be worried about right now. And surviving in his new school.

Almost as soon as they finished the conversation, Archie, Kevin, and Veronica arrived in unison, having walked together from Archie’s place where they had been hanging out previously.

Jughead got a little pinch in the heart when he realized that they had been together all morning. Sure, they had probably only intended to give him privacy with Betty - _nothing more_ \- but only a couple of weeks before Archie would have automatically included him in such plans. Or at least asked him what he wanted to do.

He brushed the feelings off quickly. They were all here now – that was all that mattered – and questions came rushing in faster than light.

‘What, FP cooks now?!’ Archie seemed almost suspicious. Jughead’s dad had never been the domesticated type.

‘More like… Burns stuff.’ The smirk on his face held both care and pride. ‘But he tries really hard, I can tell. So I make a point of being supportive and commanding him for everything.’

‘And what do you guys do when you both have free time?’

‘Hmm we read in the living room, we discuss stuff… And he’s letting me teach him chess, actually. He’s decently good at it.’

‘Well, that’s a shocker.’ The redhead couldn’t help rolling his eyes. He had never been FP Jones’ biggest fan.

‘Arch’!’ Jughead scolded.

‘Bah, you know what I mean. I’d say the same thing about _my_ dad.’

‘Nice save, asshole. No seriously, I can tell he’s putting a lot of effort in. It’s awkward sometimes, because it’s been awhile – actually more like _forever_ – since we’ve hung out together just for the sake of it, but we’re sort of finding a rhythm. We’re testing new things, and it’s good. We never had a shot at being this close before.’

‘Aw,’ Kevin’s face was in a proper pout, ‘you guys are totally crushing on each other.’

The whole table laughed. Everything was light-hearted and nice. Exactly the way it should be.

Jughead went to bed with a peaceful mind that night. Maybe it was all going to be fine in the end, and his decision would pay off. _It had to_.

He spent most of Sunday working on school stuff – he wasn’t behind at all, if anything he was actually way ahead – but he’d just been told about a few assignments that were due shortly and wasn’t going to get on the ‘no one cares, it’s _just_ Southside High’ wagon.

Studying conscientiously had always been a safe haven for him. It made him feel in control, and like he marginally held some of the answers and upper hand in the game of life. Knowledge was power after all, wasn’t it?

Even when things had gone sour - when Gladys and JB had left, and his dad had been drinking himself into the ground most days, or when Archie had sort of stopped talking to him for awhile - Jughead had never let anything deter his efforts with school assignments, working twice as hard if not more. 

It was a good focus, and a good revenge on everything and everyone who told him that he was _nothing_ and would go _nowhere_. It made him feel like he was regaining the metaphorical territory he’d lost with the downfall of his family, and that _he_ was the one in charge of his own destiny, creating options and opportunities for himself.

Therefore in times of crisis or change, his default behavior was to study for hours, as if it were a form of meditation or self-soothing.

\---

Monday came around quickly and everyone else’s gloom seemed to creep over Jughead somehow.

It had started when FP had thrown a shoe at him because he was trying to sleep after a long night at work and had decided that his son getting ready was too loud for his liking.

But it _wasn’t_ a proper shoe anyway, just a soft slipper that had been casually laying on the floor by the couch. And it _wasn’t_ really all that angry, sloppy at best. It had missed Jughead by at least 10 inches, so _no harm, no foul._

FP had never been a morning person to be honest, and Jughead _did need to work on his general level of disruptiveness,_ he thought on his way to school. That’s what considerate roommates did.

The first couple of classes turned out to be utterly boring – Jughead learnt nothing new and sighed internally at what this presaged for the rest of the semester – and by lunchtime he’d managed to fall into a quiet torpor, somewhere between daydreaming and mindfulness.

He grabbed his packed lunch from his locker and ate in the corner of a quiet classroom which didn’t seem to be in use at the moment, with a Kurt Vonnegut book in hand.

This didn’t quite match the lively conversations on his favorite table with the Riverdale High gang, but it came as second best nonetheless.

No one bothered him. He even doubted that anyone walked into this room these days – judging by the thick coat of dust on the desks - and thought that perhaps he could make it his regular hangout. It seemed peaceful enough.

The book - Slaugtherhouse Five - was riveting and he was making mental notes about certain syntaxes and language skills he might want to use later on in his own writing.

He was so engrossed that he tuned out the whole world around him, having carefully set an alarm on his phone to remind him to go to his next class.

Perhaps this is why he didn’t notice when the door closed quietly in his back and four teenage boys came creeping up on him from the opposite direction. It wasn’t until the tallest of them towered over him that Jughead looked up, suddenly feeling that he had neglected to position himself in a direction which allowed a better control of any situation.

It had never occurred to him until now that he’d need to do such a thing.

Crap. That wasn’t smart, was it?

‘So, you’re the Jones kid?’

Jughead didn’t answer, he figured this was a purely rhetorical question. The guy in front was a couple of inches taller than him it seemed, with a dark hair and dark eyes, and a look that glared with both intent and malice somehow.

Or _malicious intent_ , more precisely.

The fact that the rest of the group was slowly closing in on Jughead didn’t presage a friendly kind of chat either.

‘You’re not exactly the scary type, are you? I bet we could make lunch meat out of you.’

 _Yeah_ , about those 11 extra pounds. Maybe Jughead should be looking into putting on 3 times that amount very quickly. That sounded like a good idea right now.

‘What do you want?’ He finally said intentionally showing teeth, trying to sound as self-assured and threatening as he could.

He had no idea what these kids were doing here but if they were the equivalent of the Riverdale High football team, he’d need to send a strong message straightaway.

He _couldn’t_ let them fall into the habit of bullying him – and open invitations to the rest of the school - like he previously had with Reggie’s crew, and setting things on an even keel in his first few days seemed the utmost priority.

It would ensure that no one else took a stab – in all meanings of the term – and that he could maintain a relatively safe environment for himself.

‘Oh boys, we’ve got a fighter here, I can tell. I’m gonna like this.’ It was obvious that this guy was the leader of the group. The other teenagers looked similar, slightly varying in sizes and shapes but hovering over Jughead with the same blood-thirsty look in their eyes.

It was almost as if they were _craving_ for a fight to happen, he thought.

‘I’m gonna have to explain a thing or two it seems.’ The tall one resumed. ‘You see, in these rat-infested walls, we are known as the almighty Ghoulies. Remember this name. We are brothers; we party, we work, we fight, we love and we _piss_ over people together… In short, we take down little sons of bitches like yourself when we come across one.’

Jughead had no idea what that all meant but now wasn’t the time to ask questions.

‘… And it just so happens that we have a _huge_ contentious with the Serpents. Which you are going to pay for.’

‘Well, get your intel right. I’m not one of them!’ Jughead spat out to defend himself. He’d somehow gotten up from his desk and was now backing into the corner of the room, mistakenly cutting himself from the only exit option in the process. Not that making a run for it would result in any luck with these guys at his tail.

‘Well, I’ve found out much more valuable information… That you’re the son of the freaking Serpent _King_ himself!’

‘My dad’s retired now, you asshole. _As I said_ , get your intel right.’

‘Hmm. Nah nah nah, you ain’t gonna get out of it so easily you pretty little Angel-face. Retired or not, FP has caused a whole lot of trouble for us over the years, and today we’re going to make _you_ pay for it my friend. Actually not just today, today we’re just _starting_.’

Before he even got the time to formulate a response, Jughead felt a sharp pain suddenly erupt in his lower back. He’d been kicked from behind and soon after, blows came raining on him from every direction, like thunder disturbing a peaceful night.

He fell to the ground and immediately got showered with more vicious kicks. His ribs, his knees, his butt, his shoulders. He didn’t have the time to wonder what was next as he tried – to no avail - to defend himself, waving hands around like a distressed animal.

Jughead had known pain before, as he had received more-than-just-occasional thrusts from his parents in their _off_ days, but nothing had prepared him for something like this.

This was the very definition of ‘being jumped’, and as his mind took the time to decompose every single part of him that hurt with each new sting, Jughead wondered what would possibly stop the cruel attack.

It just came. And came. And came. Sharp, ferocious, blistering, acute, scathing pain… _all over his body._

Finally the answer to Jughead’s question came - about five minutes later, which is rather long in that type of situation - when the bell rang, putting him out of his misery and distracting the beating mob long enough for him to retreat two meters away.

‘Shit, let’s make a move guys!’ The leader said. ‘Leave the little bitch here, he can crawl his way to class. Or die trying, whichever.’

Jughead’s head was throbbing. They hadn’t actually kicked him further up than his shoulders, but the sheer amount of pain everywhere else was so unbearable that it sent his brain into high alert and the response that came back was a loud echo and an instant blinding migraine.

He blinked back tears and held his breath, as if he could just disappear from this precarious spot.

He didn’t however, and before he could further protect himself, the tall teenager that had ordered the beating came stomping next to his face on the floor and lifted him by the hair.

‘A word of this Jonesy and you are _dead_. We’ll cut every single piece of your freakishly pale skin until you bleed to the beyond, and then we’ll roast your insides and send them back in little care packages to your precious daddy… I trust that you know that we would _actually_ follow-up on this threat too, don’t you?’

Jughead shut his eyes tight and didn’t acquiesce.

Firstly because he suspected that if he moved his head by even just an inch it would pull his whole scalp even further, which was bound to hurt like freaking hell. And secondly because he didn’t want to give into a dialogue with the brute – _you don’t negotiate with terrorists_ \- and therefore didn’t so much as breathe.

However, his tormentor was dead set on an answer and jerked him violently to make his sentiment known. Jughead nearly passed out from the pain that erupted at the back of his neck, but let out a small whimper in lieu of an acknowledgement.

The boy spat on his face and concluded:

‘Welcome to your worst nightmare Angel-face. I’m Kurtz and I’m going to remind you how _sorry_ you are to have ever been born, every-single-day of your life. Better yet, every time you least expect it!’

Kurtz then yanked Jughead down as he got up from his crouched position, causing for the smaller teenager to unintentionally bite his tongue as his face hit the ground. The group quickly scattered as the second bell rang, reminding every student they were meant to be in their designated classroom by now.

Once he was finally left alone, Jughead’s very first thought was that he was going to be _very late_ to his History lesson. One of the very few he’d actually been looking forward to. Sigh.

At that precise moment, the horrid taste of his own blood spread into his mouth, sending a sickening wave of nausea throughout his whole body.

Propelled by the adrenaline that hadn’t yet left his veins, he quickly scrambled up and rushed towards the front of the room where he’d spotted a large workshop bin on his way in, and expelled all the contents of his lunch in painful retches. Every time a flutter came up he felt a new bone that hurt like hell, creating a vicious circle that made him throw-up even more.

Jughead kept going for a few minutes until pure bile came out, hardly taking the time to breathe as he heaved violently. Finally once the surge was over, he was left shakily holding on to the bin as if it was an anchor, not trusting his legs to carry him if he got up too fast.

He rested his forehead against the metal edge, not caring that it was dirty and that he probably shouldn’t do this. He’d just been spat on anyway, so what difference did it make?

After a few minutes in this position, he remembered to stress about being insanely late to his classroom and painfully pulled himself up to go and gather his things.

On his way to the class, he stopped at the boys’ restroom to splash a bit of water on his face and remove any evidence of the brutal act that had just happened.

He didn’t even need to think about it twice.

He _wasn’t_ going to rat out. Nothing good ever came from complaining to higher authorities about such things, as he’d sorely found out a few times from his cat and mice games with the Riverdale High football team.

Not that he’d ever reported anything himself, but Betty and Kevin had done so on his behalf in the past – Archie had felt too conflicted because he was part of the football team and preferred to try and deal with it directly, with no success – and overall repercussions meant that it wasn’t worth it.

Moreover, the threats that Kurtz had taken the time to enunciate had hit home pretty hard. Jughead _didn’t_ need to find out how serious he was, and if the last hour had been any sort of potent warning, he’d shut up and take it as such.

That seemed like the reasonable thing to do.

He didn’t even take the time to lift his shirt and inspect the damage done. He’d leave that for tonight – before FP came home from work as there was _no way in hell_ Jughead could let him find out about this, or it might trigger a full-on gang _apocalypse_ that they couldn't afford since his dad had a police record and was being watched pretty closely still – and with all this in mind, he rushed to his History lesson.

Right before he entered the room, he quickly looked at his watch. He was 25 minutes late.

God damnit.

Jughead took a deep breath and pushed the door. The teacher - a strawberry-blond lady in her mid-thirties - looked up at him passively as the rest of the classroom continued with their discussions, texting, and general laughing without so much as a glance towards him.

Wow.

No one cared about whatever interruption was happening - he guessed - and while he tried to nod apologetically to the teacher, she just moved on to the blackboard with a blank expression and resumed an explanation, her voice not even matching the level of intensity the students were making.

He hadn’t missed much, it seemed.

Jughead limped slightly as he walked to a free seat, and slumped without realizing how heavily, sending a jolt through his painful spine in the process. He let out an inaudible gasp and paled 3 shades.

Little black spots swarmed into his vision and he focused on his hands lightly trembling on the table. When he finally looked up he met Toni’s eyes a couple of rows to the side. He quickly turned away as a reflex, but felt her gaze lingering a few seconds too long.

Jughead wondered if she knew, or at least suspected.

He felt silly. So silly.

He had told this girl that he was very savvy and self-sufficient – _thanks for the concern, but no thanks_ \- however today a group of angry teenagers had just beaten the crap out of him for no good reason.

He was going to have to get smarter about things. _Very quickly._


	3. Chapter 3

When he got home that evening, Jughead headed straight to the shower.

He felt gross and soiled, and had never managed to get rid of that taste of blood and vomit in his mouth, even after countless gulps of water in between each of his remaining classes.

He pulled his shirt carefully and winced at the sight of all the contusions that covered his body. The Ghoulies hadn’t exactly been shy about it and had just feasted on him like vultures on a dead cow’s carcass.

Jughead numbly wondered if anything was broken.

It was highly possible that some ribs had cracked or at least been bruised extensively. Just taking his clothes off made him queasy and he glanced at the toilet, judging the distance he’d need to close should he suddenly feel the urge to throw up again.

Not that he had anything left in his stomach to spew, and the very concept of it in addition to the pain that had seemed to double in the last few hours firmly put him off eating anything.

So instead he brushed his teeth like a maniac, trying to get rid of the awful taste, and limped to the shower which he turned on at the highest temperature possible.

He stayed there for about fifteen minutes, trying to stop the mad shiver that had angrily taken over his body, and ended up putting some sweatpants and a hoodie on, heading to bed immediately after. It was 5:47pm.

He fell immediately into a dreamless sleep, ignoring his phone vibrating on the side table, with a text from Betty telling him about a school dance that Friday that he was cordially invited to join.

A few hours later, he woke up to the sound of the front door quietly being locked. He looked at his phone, which said 2:21am. He held his breath as he listened carefully to the noises in the living room.

A cupboard door was creaking, a plate or bowl was taken out, some food was being scooped into it and a can clicked open. Wait, what? A can was _not_ a usual or positive sound. Jughead immediately started breathing a little faster and felt his heart constrict in his chest. Please let this _not_ be a beer.

He ignored the throbbing in his ribs and slowly hoisted himself into a seated position, attentively listening to whatever was happening on the other side of the wall. Sounds and movements lasted another half an hour, and after a quick bathroom pit-stop, the light went out underneath the door as it did every day.

Jughead waited longer, taking only small breaths to try and not aggravate the soreness of his aching chest and when he finally heard light snoring in the distance he painfully dragged himself out of his room and into the kitchen.

He ensured that his dad was indeed sleeping before conducting his investigation, and when he was satisfied that _yes FP was definitely out_ , he headed for the bin, shuffling a paper bag carefully to see what sat underneath.

A can of Dr Pepper. Ahhh. Jughead let out a long sigh of relief and hobbled back to his bed in the same soundless manner.

Small tears pricked in the corner of his eyes as his head rolled back on his pillow. It had been quite the eventful day.

He scanned the few texts he had missed. _Yes_ a dance at Riverdale High sounded sort of nice – he wasn’t usually a 'social gathering type of guy' but he’d pay good money for the comfort of his friends right now, wherever they were - but _no_ he didn’t think he could attend. Purely because he wasn’t sure at all that he would be able to move by then. And Betty would notice something was off, that was guaranteed. She’d make it her mission to find out what was wrong, which probably wouldn’t be too hard. So he had to steer clear for a few days, because he wasn’t about to drag her or anyone else into this mess.

He coughed again, much to his dismay. If the pain he was experiencing got any higher, he would surely pass out. Well, actually that may be a good way to get him back to sleep, as that ship had most definitely sailed now and he knew he was going to be wide awake until morning.

Jughead wasn’t sure if he could make it to class the next day, as just the idea of walking there was making him woozy. But unluckily it happened to be his dad’s day off. Yikes. He would have to try and make himself leave the trailer; he _really_ couldn't afford for FP to suspect anything. The last thing he needed was for his dad to go _ballistic_ against the Ghoulies, as he knew all too well that any situation would trigger a downward spiral. That was guaranteed in FP's current fragile state of recovery.

A few hours of this internal turmoil went on, and by 6:30am - Jughead's usual alarm time - he was sure of only one thing; that there was absolutely zero chance that he would be physically capable of stepping one foot in front of the other.

And then Jughead was suddenly taken by a coughing fit. It was weird because he didn’t have a cold, but maybe they’d kicked his throat too? He didn’t have a visible bruise there; those Ghoulies knew damn well where to hit in order for this ‘extracurricular activity’ to remain a secret.

The teenager reached for his glass of water and took a few sips to try and quiet the sound, but proceeded too quickly and immediately went into an even louder fit which angered his whole battered body and caused him to throw up everything he’d just drunk.

Oh god damnit.

Before he was entirely finished and continued to gasp between croaks – _oh and more bile… How much could he possibly produce, seriously?_ – the door burst open and a devilish-looking FP appeared in the frame.

‘Jug, what’s wrong boy?’ He looked at the mess on the floor, and at his son who was about as pale as the sheets he slept in.

 _Thank god_ he was still wearing the hoodie which covered all the suspicious areas.

‘Da-ad, I’m s-sorry.’ Was all he managed to say before the next fit. FP approached closer and prompted him straight against the headboard to try and allow him to breathe more easily. Ouch, that _really_ hurt, but Jughead luckily caught the cry that was about to happen just before it got out.

‘Are you feeling sick?’ All the evidence pointed in this direction.

‘Ye-eah.’ He answered shyly, once he’d managed to get a few calming breaths in. ‘I’m sorry dad, I’ll clean this up in a minute.’

‘No go back to sleep Jug, you look terrible. No school for you today, I’ll call them to let them know you’ve caught some sort of flu.’

Huh. Well that worked too. One bird, two stones. Wait no, two birds, one stone. Jughead was definitely _not_ thinking straight. But at least FP seemed to be.

The teenager made a small move to get up – he did sincerely intend on cleaning up the gross mess he’d just made – but his dad pushed him back down gently, already heading to grab cleaning products and a bucket to keep by the bed as a precaution.

Jughead rolled over as best he could. He did feel a little feverish actually. Or maybe extremely shivery, it was hard to tell which. It was probably just his body reacting in a weird way to the events of the day before, but it helped feeling OK about telling his dad a white lie since FP had been the one accidentally coming up with it in the first place.

And weirdly this brief interaction put Jughead’s mind at rest a little bit.

FP _wasn’t_ drinking, and _was_ somehow doing a very 'dad thing' – which had almost never happened before. In fact, Jughead could recall more times when Fred Andrews had taken care of him when he faced a seasonal illness than his own father. So that was something.

His eyes flickered shut again and this time he went into a deep sleep.

\---

The teenager woke up hours later to the sound of soft knocks on his bedroom door.

‘Jug?’ FP’s voice was both relaxed and considerate.

‘Yes dad?’ Jughead’s was croaky and small.

‘How’you feeling buddy?’

‘A little better.’ That was a complete lie.

‘Maybe you shouldn’t sleep too much or you’ll be wide awake tonight. It’s 4pm already.’

Jughead carefully rose into a seated position and rubbed his eyes. That headache had never quite left him and was still somewhat ringing in his ears.

‘I made you some soup... Why don’t you come out to the living room and we can watch a movie together or something.’

Now _that_ sounded like something he could do.

‘Thanks dad, I’ll be out there in a few minutes.’

That soup didn’t go down too well. Jughead couldn’t tell if the recipe had just been a bit mismanaged – as most of what FP tried to make – or if his stomach was still upset. He tried four spoonsful of it - or more like one and a half - and decided to set it down before risking any further untidy incident.

His dad noticed and joked;

‘Ah I’m sorry son, it’s probably my fault. Next time I’ll just get us a can. But for the record, that thing you caught must have hit you pretty hard because I’ve never seen you this much out of it before.’

_Hit you._

The choice of words was unintentionally ironic. Jughead thoughts lingered on this fact, unaware that his dad was observing him sideways. FP got up to heat up some toast and gave half a piece to his son who chewed slowly and silently.

‘Tell me Jug. Apart from this, you're doing OK right? _We_ ’re doing OK?’

Their eyes met and Jughead instantly snapped out of his reverie.

‘Yes, of course dad. I’m happy here. I’m glad I came back.’

‘Good, good. Me too. I haven’t reached out to your mom yet but I soon will. I’m waiting for the dust to settle and I want to have some money saved up in order to make this place a bit more comfortable for her and Jelly.’

That sounded enticing.

Both to get his sister and mom back in Riverdale, and a bit of an upgrade for their home. It was late November now and as per usual the thin walls of Sunnyside – _what an ironic name_ \- felt colder than other places. That reminded Jughead that it would be about time to crank up the heat, if they could afford it.

Maybe once he was no longer hurting like hell he could get a job to contribute to the bills. After all, why should his dad have to do it all by himself? Just last year Jughead had a whole lot more to figure out – _try everything_ \- so this would be very manageable in comparison.

He settled further into the couch as they watched East of Eden side by side, and Jughead’s mind drifted it off in a comfortable numbness.

\---

By Wednesday evening – after another 14-hour night of sleep - Jughead felt a little more alive. Everything was still sore, but he was getting somewhat used to the aches and how to work around them. He didn’t want to miss too much school – attendance was important for college applications - and decided to go back the next day.

He’d already declined the dance at Riverdale High, pretending that he had to help his dad with a project for the whole weekend. If he told Betty and Archie that he was sick, one of them was bound to show up at his doorstep on Saturday with a care package of Tylenol and honeyed tea, and it would be a lot more difficult to lie to them than it had been to FP.

Not that he felt easy about the excuse he’d come up with, though. After the whole Grundy-slash-Jason-Blossom-debacle, he and Archie had promised that they wouldn’t keep things from each other anymore and this - on absolutely all standards - was very much going against the principle.

The problem was that Archie could be stubborn and a bit of a hothead, especially when it came to defending his loved ones. He always meant so incredibly well, but Jughead could foresee him getting all hyped up and wanting to seek revenge on his best friend’s behalf, in a way that would most certainly mean trouble for everyone.

These Ghoulies seemed utterly lawless, and very well trained in the Art of trashing ass. The last thing Jughead needed was to be in the middle of a conflict between a certain redhead and them, and therefore he simply hoped to let the problem sort itself once his tormentors would get tired and move on to the next best thing. That was bound to happen, right?

So instead of enjoying himself with the gang – and _not-so-secretly_ admiring Betty in a pretty dress whilst questioning his self-worth at her side - he stayed home and took out his laptop for a bit of much needed writing time.

It had been a little while since he’d wrapped up his last project and he felt an itch to transform his awful experience of the week into something creative.

‘At least, it’ll help me write something _real_.’ He justified to himself to try and put a positive twist on the nasty situation he’d encountered.

But inspiration refused to come.

The assault was a little too raw – quite literally – and it felt too exposing to put anything down on paper, even through fictional characters.

So instead Jughead flicked through his usual amateur-writing websites and let himself become engrossed in other people’s words, forgetting anything to do with him or his situation for a while.

\---

On Sunday afternoon Archie texted to see if they could meet up at Pop’s for a quick catch-up. Jughead tried to dodge the request but after a few _‘come’on, whatever you’re doing you’ll need food anyway’_ , there wasn’t much he could counter with anymore. It would start to sound suspicious if Jughead turned down milkshakes.

And luckily he was feeling much better by then, so the chances of anything being found out was pretty slim since no dancing or odd movements would be required.

‘So, how are things Arch’?’ Jughead preferred to open up and take the lead. It gave him the upper hand in the management of the conversation. Plus he had nothing interesting to say for himself anyway and was genuinely eager to hear the last _Veronica report_.

‘Good, man. We missed you on Friday. The girls got all dolled-up, and I said they looked like _pretty little things_ and got a two-hour speech about the objectification of women in the English language – which I know is bad, I’ve heard them now – and I was pretty much in the doghouse for the rest of the evening. As a joke of course, but I could have used some backup!’

‘How about Kevin?’

‘Oh no, he was in full agreement with the ladies.’

‘I mean… Pretty little _things_. And _dolled-up,_ I thought I’d taught you better pal.’ Jughead couldn’t help but smirk at his brother’s misstep.

‘Well apparently, you’re gone a whole 5 minutes and I can’t make it to one dance without being picked on.’

‘Aww, you need me to defend you _Archiekins_?’ Jughead used Veronica’s favorite nickname intentionally.

‘I most certainly do.’

‘I’ll have a word with Betty about her treatment of the weaker sex. And by that I mean _you_.’

They laughed together for a little while longer, and then Archie naturally showed interest. 

‘What about you Jug, how are you?’

‘Oh just _dandy_. Right that word down my friend, the girls will like it. And as long as you’re using self-deprecating language, you should keep earning brownie points.’

Deflecting to humor had always been his preferred way of avoiding anything that might qualify as personal.

‘Haha, very funny. But more seriously, what is going on with _you_?’

Apparently Archie knew this much about him.

‘Let’s see. I read a book about the traumas of WWII and how to cope by imagining weird autochthone cultures on other planets, galaxies away.’ More skirting around issues. Jughead was _excellent_ at this game.

‘Sounds… very you.’

‘Indeed.’ The satisfied smile helped convey confidence, like a crown jewel of self-preservation.

‘And how’s FP?’

‘He’s good. We hang out, we watch movies, we talk about _feelings_.’ OK that last part was totally untrue, but it was said using such a facetious tone that the joke was unmistakable. ‘We’re the _perfect_ picture of the whole father-son bonding experience the American Dream wants to sell you so hard.’

At that moment Pop Tate appeared with two milkshakes for the teenagers and took the time to chat with them for a few minutes. As he left he patted Jughead on the back, which made him wince ever-so-slightly.

‘What’s up Jug?’ Archie frowned at the boy’s expression.

‘Oh nothing.’ He quickly composed himself and shrugged casually.

‘Are you hurt?’ You looked in pain just now.’

It had been on Archie’s mind that bullies probably existed at Southside High too. Most likely even more so than Riverdale High.

‘Nah. I helped my dad shuffle some furniture around in the trailer and I’m just a bit sore. It was quite the workout.’ He’d need to remember to move a couple of things later on, just for good measure in case Archie stopped by in the next few days. ‘What did you say in your text the other day about working with Hiram Lodge?’ The quicker they moved on to a new topic, the better.

Apparently that explanation satisfied Archie.

‘Hmm. He’s letting me shadow him at Lodge Industries. Just like an internship, I do odd jobs for him that he trusts me with.’

‘Sounds cool.’

‘He’s pretty impressive. He built his fortune out of nothing. And I think he likes having me around… Since he doesn’t have a son.’

‘What does Veronica have to say about it?’

‘I don’t think she was thrilled at first, but she’s come around now. She can see that there are benefits in having her father trust me. Like extra time after school at the Pembrooke for example.’ Archie paused and smiled absentmindedly.

‘You’re really into her, aren’t you?’

‘I think it’s love, man.’ He had a bit of a stupid look on his face, but it was sweet.

‘Damn, I didn’t think I’d see the day when Archie Andrews would go that soft for a girl and become the perfect son-in-law.’

‘Anything can happen.’ He put his hands up in the air defensively.

‘Sure can.’

Sitting there together at Pop’s discussing light topics with his _brother_ made Jughead feel that he’d finally reached the seemingly unattainable warmth he had been craving for so long.

No more living alone in a disused genitor closet, no more tracking down information to free his dad from a vicious conspiracy, no more depression and feelings of worthlessness that had washed over him as these situations had unraveled out of his control in the past few months.

Things were not exactly the definition of perfection – and yes a couple of _details_ needed sorting out sooner than later - but it was getting pretty damn close to it.


	4. Chapter 4

Christmas was just around the corner and snow had started to coat the grounds of Riverdale rather heavily.

It had taken a good couple of weeks for Jughead to heal, and by the third he felt ready to fight back, should a new attack occur at school. To try and avoid that altogether though, he’d opted to make himself visible and stay in busy places at all times, either hanging out by his locker in between classes or in the busy cafeteria of Southside High.

To his relief, the invitations from the Serpents had died out by now that they’d finally understood he wasn’t interested. Because he still wasn’t, even for protection. There was too much at risk if he mingled with law-skirting entities, whoever those were.

Jughead had yet to make an actual friend, but while waiting for that to happen he figured that the free time would help him focus on his studies. Not that his regular load required that much effort, but he’d ask to join a few AP classes and teachers had kindly agreed to let him start late, if he made up for the assignments missed in the beginning of the school year. That seemed fair.

Therefore Jughead was pretty busy with that, as well as with his new job.

Indeed, he’d managed to find a few hours at a local warehouse, shifting and loading goods in and out of Riverdale. It wasn’t glamorous work - pretty physical actually – and the schedule was ungodly, but the few bucks he made were very welcome.

Thanks to all that, Jughead was now proudly contributing to the Jones family ‘Fun Fund’ as his dad had teasingly named it. At first Jughead had simply handed over money to him ‘for bills and canned soup’, but FP had been a bit flustered about it and shown feathers like a peacock, declaring solemnly that no son of his needed to pay for his lodging.

At Jughead’s insistence that he wanted to help, he compromised in the form of an old cookie tin and said;

‘Put whatever in there when you feel like it, we’ll keep it for a rainy day or to use on a treat for the family when your mom and sister are back.’

‘How about for that vacation?’ Jughead’s voice rang with excitement.

‘Hmm how much an hour do you make boy? It might be years before we can go somewhere decent.’ His father joked back. He sounded grateful nonetheless.

They decided to hide the tin in an old crack behind the kitchen counter, just in case.

It was hard to imagine that anyone would _dare_ raid FP Jones’ house, but now that he was the _ex_ Serpent King - as Jughead proudly liked to remind him - it was probably better to be safe than sorry. Vengeance was enough of a motive for those who were desperate enough.

With his own extra money, Jughead had bought a few Christmas gifts.

Betty was first on his list, and he’d gotten her a rare edition of ‘Beloved’ by Toni Morrison, whom he knew was her favorite author. He couldn’t wait to share this with her and see the look of joy on her face. Her eyes always carried such genuine feelings, it was simply the greatest gift to see them light up with love and laughter. Jughead even wondered if he was actually treating himself more than her by anticipating the warm reaction he knew he was going to receive. That was all he really truly wished for Christmas from her.

For Archie he’d bought new football gloves. It wasn’t his most brilliant idea – he could admit this much - but Archie had been complaining about his and had little time to go and buy himself new ones, being far busier than expected with Hiram Lodge. Jughead _couldn’t wait_ for the precious time spent with his best friend. Especially just the two of them for breakfast at Pop’s on the 26th, as they had done every year since they could remember. 

Finally for his dad he had chosen a harmonica, as he fondly remembered FP playing when he was little but hadn’t heard him in years. It was about time that the trailer heard some happier tunes.

All in all, Jughead felt very content and looking forward to the break.

\---

He would have almost forgotten the Ghoulies and their chilling threats, if it hadn’t been for Kurtz loitering in the corner of the hallway by Jughead’s locker on the last day of school, suspiciously pretending to blow him a friendly kiss from a distance.

First of all, _not cool at all_. Jughead didn’t want people to think that Kurtz and him were… well, _anything_ , for that matter. But also, what the hell did that even mean?

That stayed with him throughout all his remaining classes, as if he was powerlessly waiting for a shit storm he knew he couldn’t avoid.

Perhaps he could ask Toni to tag along and walk out of school with her? On second thought, that seemed difficult to ask since he’d been carefully avoiding her gang all this time, quite literally.

Maybe it couldn’t be her per se, but if Jughead managed to stay surrounded by people the whole time, he could blend in and slip out of school before anything bad happened? That seemed like the best option, not that Jughead’s frantic mind could come up with anything better anyway, so he’d just have to simply roll with it.

When the bell rang, he was ready to leave and grab his bag to be on his merry way out. However just as he was about to cross the door into the hallway, the teacher called out his name demanding that he stayed a couple of minutes behind.

This was English class, his favorite subject, and the teacher wanted to discuss a short story that he’d given back as an assignment and for which he’d received an A+.

‘It was brilliant, Mr Jones, absolutely brilliant!’

‘Oh thank you, that is too generous.’ Jughead felt uncomfortable at the praise and wanted to leave as soon as possible, but also didn’t want to be rude and cut short, seeing as a few extra pointers on making his writing better would be welcome if the conversation went that way.

‘Have you ever considered submitting any of your work into a writing competition?’

 _No_ he hadn’t. He had secret ambitions of trying to publish one day, but he thought that he was very far from that point and felt a bit shy about sharing anything with anyone, apart from this class.

‘Well, I’ll look into it for you because I truly believe that you’ve got a talent Mr Jones. The sooner you start this sort of thing, the better. It can help with scholarships and such.’

That last part did pique Jughead’s interest.

He listened a bit more attentively, putting his anxiety aside for a minute and nodding every so often when his teacher mentioned something that seemed intelligent.

‘So it is settled then, let’s explore! Now go and have a good break Forsythe.’

Jughead half-smiled and returned the wishes politely.

As he walked away he looked at his phone furtively. He’d spent an extra 12 minutes in the classroom. Where those had gone he wasn’t even sure, but the hallways of Southside High were now nearly empty.

_Crap._

He sighed heavily and walked towards his locker to pick up a couple of things. His fate was sealed now anyway, there was no point in running out of the building.

He walked to and fro hyper-aware of his surroundings and almost held his breath as he took the last stretch of steps towards the front door.

Was he actually going to get out scots-free? It seemed dubious.

Jughead almost couldn’t believe his luck when found himself on the front steps of the school, backpack firmly secured on his shoulder walking towards two full weeks of liberty.

He thought about Archie and how he wanted to text him as soon as he got home to see if he wanted to hang out tonight. Pizza and a movie sounded like heaven right now. And yes, he’d even let Vegas snatch a couple of pizza crusts from his plate. He’d missed the dog too lately.

Jughead put his hands in his pockets – he didn’t have any gloves and the cold was biting pretty badly – and looked down, noticing that his shoelace was undone.

He kneeled for just a second with the intent of tying it, when suddenly he felt a pair of arms enveloping his midsection and crushing him from behind.

He wanted - _attempted_ \- to scream with surprise but realized that he had very little ability to breathe and felt himself being forcibly dragged along by someone much bigger and stronger than him, around the school and away from plain view.

Trying his hardest to fight against his attacker, Jughead kicked and pushed in every direction, and pulled whatever movement he could think of to get out of the tight grip that was restraining him.

He had very little sway however and found himself slipping on the snow, which was only making it easier for his assailant to tug him along.

After about a minute of that useless brawl, Jughead was pulled to his feet and tossed head first on the snow, ending up on all four, then kicked right into his ribs. Thankfully his coat had softened the blow and he only felt a little sting.

 _No, no, no, not again._ Jughead panicked. _Not now._ He really didn’t fancy spending the whole Christmas break nursing a plethora of ecchymoses and lying to his friends about it.

Somehow for an unknown reason – perhaps the sheer power of his will - it stopped right there.

Jughead’s eyes flickered around frantically and counted 3 pairs of heavy winter boots. He immediately scrambled to his feet in an attempt to get up, but was pinned down again - face directly on the snow and a freezing shoe crushing his neck.

He couldn’t see who exactly was responsible for this but had a pretty good idea. The voice above him confirmed his suspicions.

‘Well, well well, if that isn’t my favorite little Angel-face… You didn’t think we were going to say goodbye for two weeks without a parting gift, did you?’

No answer was needed. Jughead knew that Kurtz was only preempting whatever was coming his way.

‘I’ve spent quite a bit thinking of what would be appropriate this time around. Just so you’d see how much care I put into these little interactions of ours…’

‘Let go of me!’

They were 3, Jughead was alone. Could he try and retaliate? He would have, if a heavy boot wasn’t so dangerously close to his spine. He imagined that the Ghoulies would have no qualms about injuring him permanently if it came to it – accidentally or not - and didn’t particularly want to find out what it was like to be paralyzed from the neck down.

Kurtz was far too busy listening to the sound of his own threatening monologue to consider releasing Jughead.

‘I wanted something particularly nice for you, you know… A great experience of the humbling kind. Just to remind you who you are and how much you are _really_ worth to this planet.’

Some laughter from the other two teenagers erupted above. Why the hell was it that absolutely no one else from the staff or student body was around?

Jughead didn’t have the time to comprehend what muffled sound were happening over his head, too preoccupied by the snow biting his cheeks with little pricks of pain.

‘Angel-face, here’s to your lucky stars! This is the day you will forever remember as being reborn and baptized into this _shitty_ world.’

And then suddenly warm liquid splashed against Jughead’s face.

It took him half a second to realize what was going on, when the rancid smell of something all too familiar and disgusting hit his brain.

‘We’ve been saving this all day for you, Beanie boy.’

The piss got absolutely everywhere.

Jughead’s hair, skin and even eyelids. His jacket, his flannel, his jeans. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs but realized that if he opened his mouth it would probably get in there too. He tried his hardest to dodge the boot while more laughter and whistles filled his ears with mocking taunts.

Jughead was dying inside and tried his hardest to extract himself from the situation. This went on for several minutes as his 3 tormentors took turns. Kurtz hadn’t been lying when he said that they’d been saving themselves for this.

Fluid came to fill Jughead’s left ear and he lost sound on that side, as if he was underwater. Even with his best efforts to move around he didn’t manage to empty it properly. The more it moved, the further it seemed to trickle inside him.

Then finally it stopped.

‘How did you like this, huh? Did it warm you up like we hoped it would?’ Kurtz was all hyped up and screaming like a demon.

Jughead finally allowed himself to take a sharp breath, ice-cold air and sour stench filling his senses all at once. He immediately coughed which Kurtz decided was a suitable answer to his question.

‘And now for the grand finale ladies and gentlemen...’

Oh no. These words did _not_ presage anything good.

‘We’ve got a little something extra special for you. We even had to search the place around to find the _highest quality._ ’

Before he could say anything, Jughead felt his legs being pulled backwards and his whole body slide on the hardened snow. He spotted his beanie a few inches away, soaking wet and discarded like an old sock.

His dripping eyes were still tracking it as he tried to hold on to the ground, only managing to get bloody scraps in the palms of his hands.

And then one the guys rotated him 90 degrees and he understood what the last piece of today’s humiliation consisted of.

‘Please don’t! _Please_.’ Jughead had to resort to supplications. This was far beyond horrific.

Unfortunately his pleas had the only effect of bolstering the Ghoulies further. Howling and name-calling only intensified now that they were so confident that no one was coming to the rescue and that their prank was being received so appropriately by a terrified Jughead.

‘ _Please don’t, please dooon’t_ ’ He heard repeated a few times above his head, as small tears formed in the corner of his eyes.

But Jughead knew it was all in vain and took a deep breath before the boot directed his face on to an enormous dog stool that was fresh enough to squish all around his skin.

Could he just pass out? Please? This would be so welcome right now. Just clock out and wake up somewhere else. Somewhere better. Somewhere _cleaner._

Jughead didn’t see what happened next as he chose to close his eyes and wait for the moment to pass, for fear of anything getting in there too. He felt his nose filling up with brown matter and kept his lips tight, until his instincts kicked-in against his will and _forced_ him to take a breath.

‘Whoop, whoop!’ He could hear above him ‘Boys we can sleep proudly tonight! Another Serpent bites the dust, and horse shit!’

How many times did he have to repeat this to people; he _wasn’t_ a Serpent.

‘Merry Christmas looser, see you in the new year for more tricks and treats!’ 

Jughead received a couple of kicks in the legs, and with these parting words his mob finally left him alone.

In the freezing snow. Covered in excrements.

With ragged breaths, Jughead slowly managed to open his eyes. His sight was obstructed and he had to wipe himself off in order to see properly, taking in the sight of the messy scene around him.

His bag had been emptied and there were books scattered all around, in a mixture of soiled and damp. His beanie was thankfully still there but looked so grim that he considered burning it for a split second.

And then there was the matter of _him_. Jughead felt his stomach uncomfortably churn as he realized how gross he was.

He immediately crawled a couple of feet away to find ‘clean’ snow and started to rub himself frantically. His ear was still blocked and he cocked his head to the side in hopes of expelling its content, with no success.

As his breathing became more erratic, Jughead scraped and scraped like a maniac not realizing that his skin was becoming redder and rawer with every harsh move.

He continued for a few minutes until he realized that he was _freezing_ and it would be more efficient to shower it all off. Several times.

Collecting himself and his belongings awkwardly, he ran to Sunnyside as fast as he could, making sure to hide whenever he came across the occasional by-passer. He had suffered enough embarrassment for a day without needing further questioning or weird looks, and willed himself not let his anger transform into violent shakes _until_ he was shielded by the door of the trailer home.

\---

When FP entered the house a few hours later, he found Jughead enveloped in a thick blanket on the couch, knees drawn to his chin and staring into the distance.

‘Hey boy, what’s up?’

No answer came. It was as if his son hadn’t seen him come in.

‘Jug!’ He snapped his fingers closer to his face. ‘You' frozen or what?’

Jughead moved his gaze up very slowly, as if he was recovering from a deep shock or heavy drug use.

‘Oh hey dad, sorry. Daydreaming.’ His voice was so small that FP had to concentrate to hear it.

‘Hmm OK. I’ve got chicken pot pie for dinner, you' in the mood for that?’ He could tell something was off with his son but didn’t have the energy to address it after a long day at work.

‘No thanks. Maybe later.’

‘Are you not hungry?’

Jughead simply shook his head and grabbed a book by his side, indicating that the conversation was over.

FP considered sitting next to him and asking a couple of questions but thought better of it. If Jughead wanted to talk, he would do so. It probably had to do with a girl – _Betty, was that her name?_ – or some other growing pain, and he wasn’t the best person to advise on this type of thing. He was too short on patience and both him and his son knew it.

Jughead was due to hang out with friends over the break anyway so he could unload with them, whatever it was that was troubling him.


	5. Chapter 5

There were different ways to look at what had happened to Jughead just a couple of days ago.

On one hand, he didn’t have any physical evidence of the abuse apart from self-inflicted scratches around his ear and forehead which could easily be covered by his hair and beanie - once this one had been thoroughly cleaned, which turned out to be 8 times.

Consequently, Jughead didn’t have _much_ to hide this time around and could see his friends as soon as he wished that weekend. Which had to be a perk over the last beating, right?

But on the other hand, that ‘upside’ was unfortunately not as strong as the horrible disgust he felt settling deeper and deeper into his bones every time he so much as _looked_ at his face in the mirror.

And the last thing he wanted was for any of that to transpire and have to force smiles that felt impossible to even imagine at this point.

Additionally, the very idea of Betty kissing him where he’d been so sullied made him cringe, as if he had some kind of transmittable disease that he could pass on to her so-perfect-and-beautiful skin if she approached him. And she inevitably would. Jughead most definitely didn’t want her to feel like _she_ was the disease if he involuntarily recoiled from her touch.

Therefore, he turned down all invitations that weekend by saying that he had a dodgy stomach. _That thing that was going around Southside High and that he was bound to catch right in time for the break_. Because that sort of luck was pretty standard for him and no one would question it. And no one did.

That’s what he had told his dad as well, so he’d be free to crawl deep into bed and appropriately cover his shame underneath the heavy sheets.

FP frankly didn’t know what to make of it, but his son had been the sickly kind as a child and had spent a good few months without a steady roof over his head not that long ago, so it seemed almost normal that his immune system would be a bit uncooperative. Feeling some guilt over the whole ‘homelessness situation’, FP chose to let it slide without a proper conversation and ignored the fact that his son spirit’s seemed as low as his appetite.

\---

By Monday morning though, something finally clicked in Jughead.

He _couldn’t_ let the Ghoulies win, that was simply out of the question. It would be surrendering, and he could do way better than that. He’d already stupidly wasted a whole weekend and now was time to come out of his shell.

He texted Archie - first thing in the morning - asking when they could hang out, and then Betty, Kevin, and _even_ Veronica. He was trying to see what everyone would be up to for the next two weeks and when gatherings could be organized in between family meals.

He burst out of the room with a celebratory ‘Dad, I’m starving!’ and searched the cupboards in a frantic quest for coffee. He felt as if he had slept too much and needed to shock his system back into life.

Upon seeing FP stir slightly on the couch – he’d come home late from his shift – Jughead decided to get ready and grabbed his laptop to head over to Pop’s.

He was hungry enough for 3 burgers and endless portions of fries, but decided that it was a bit early for that and settled for a stack of pancakes drowning in maple syrup.

When the sweet waft of sugar hit his nose, blending in with his favorite smell of roasted beans, Jughead consciously decided to count his blessings and kick his troubles behind so he could concentrate on the break which was all _still_ about to happen, and that he knew would be a good one.

\---

Two weeks later he was able to replace good by _fantastic_.

Absolutely no time had been wasted and he found himself hanging out almost every day at Archie’s - listening to his latest guitar tunes or playing video games - or at the Pembrooke with the whole gang for whatever movie night had been programmed. Which he got to choose more than once.

He’d also managed to steal a fair amount of Betty’s time and whisk her off on romantic walks or ‘more sleuthing together’ – he hadn’t lost his skills after all - making himself the useful and desirable boyfriend she deserved.

And finally, everyone had loved his gifts. Including his dad.

They’d had a modest Christmas day together, sharing a pre-packaged turkey that tasted a bit dry but in no small way like an actual _victory_ to Jughead.

FP had demanded to hear stories that his son had written and while it felt a little too exposing, he was happy to share a couple of school projects that were safely away from anything too personal.

They’d played a couple of chess games – FP was getting really good at it – and ended up watching some TV.

That’s when Jughead had realized something important.

Whether his mom and sister ever came back or not, this ‘arrangement’ _could_ work. It had been nearly a couple of months since he’d moved back to Sunnyside now and everything felt natural, almost easy.

It was most definitely worth the small sacrifice he had made by transferring to Southside High. Perhaps when he’d feel that FP was in a more stable place, Jughead could even ask him how to deal with ‘situations’ as he knew a thing - or ten - about gangs and how to deal with ruthless rivals.

Now seemed a little too soon, but there was no denying that each passing day was setting the Jones men closer to a more solid and permanent equilibrium. Give them another few weeks and Jughead trusted that he could share _some_ things without sending FP into a downward spiral or vengeful fit of rage.

That was the cherry on top of the holidays. Everything _was_ going to be fine. Jughead just needed to hang in there a little longer.

\---

When he re-entered the school for the first time in January, Jughead felt a little jolt of repulsion coming up his throat, but quickly swallowed it down.

He had other things on his mind right now, such as attempting to befriend somebody. _Anybody_ actually _._

Well, Ghoulies and Serpents excluded. Which as he had researched, turned out _not_ to be the entire school. The ratio was about a third of each, so there was hope.

Indeed, while the break had certainly done miracles to restore his confidence levels and he was feeling happier than he had right before – _not hard, to be honest_ – Jughead was still feeling a bit lonely in the thick walls of Southside High.

Schoolwork _was_ very much the priority and having time to focus _wasn’t_ a bad thing, but being able to chat during lunch here and there would be nice if only he’d be able to get at least a single soul interested in him.

Which as he understood after a few days, was a _lot_ trickier than expected.

He quickly grasped – a detail he had failed to notice before since he hadn’t been proactive on the social scene - that he was _persona non-grata,_ in other words that absolutely nobody wanted to be seen within a few feet of him, for fear of making powerful enemies.

Just his luck, god damnit.

 _Alrighty then_ , he told himself once resigned. He recommitted to his crazy schedule of AP classes, decided to grab more hours at the warehouse _before_ and after school, and kept his head down in the hallways.

He’d make more efforts to see the Riverdale High gang during the weekend, and keep himself suitably busy to _forget_ the fact that absolutely no one wanted him in this school and _forgive_ the fact that teenage behaviors could be so cruel and downright depressing.

As days went by, Jughead successfully shoved his feelings away by doing just what he’d set out for. More studying, more work, more being ‘invisible’.

FP had seemed busier too since Christmas and had decided to resume a resemblance of social life, which his son hadn’t failed to notice. It was mainly with people from Sunnyside, neighbors and old acquaintances.

It seemed innocent enough – after all if Jughead had managed this much himself, he’d go for it too - but required to keep a close eye on _things_ nonetheless.

Not that anything out of the ordinary had happened – Jughead was still waiting for his dad to make it home every night, and he was – but it was just something to be aware of.

And which could maybe explain why FP sometimes showed up late at work. More and more it seemed.

 _That_ was a little bit more troublesome.

Jughead knew this because he still hung out at Pop’s like it was his own living room, and had seen his dad enter the premises in a hurried and apologetic manner multiple times over the last few weeks, not always aware that he was being watched.

Jughead made it a point to never lift his head from his computer and to brush over Pop’s reassuring smile as he’d come and pour him more coffee, but the sole fact nagged him in the back of the head like an uninvited guest.

He absolutely did _not_ want to have a sit-down chat with his dad about work ethics. Not now, not ever.

Another thing he had on his ‘ _To Watch’_ list was Betty’s forever-growing involvement with the Blackhood investigation. She had seemed a bit on edge after the break and started being more secretive about her findings.

Jughead interpreted this as a backlash for having to slightly pull out of the search. Now that he was busier on his side of the tracks, it had become harder to be readily available - as he had been during the break.

Likewise, Betty had also seemed somewhat wary of Jughead’s own commitments. She had mentioned more than once that he seemed to be taking on quite the load - between extra classes and shifts - and while she probably only meant well, he’d been a bit defensive about it all.

From his point of view, Betty did not realize that the reason behind his choices was that he had literally _zero_ friends over there and was trying to fill a bit of an emotional void by occupying every minute of his time with distracting projects.

He certainly wasn’t going to explain this to her, for fear that she might just march to Southside High and _make_ people talk to her boyfriend. Or take it upon herself to organize a social gathering – _like his birthday debacle_ \- which gave him anxiety just thinking about it.

The fact remained, each other’s concerns had snowballed into more or less of a mutual ‘ _whatever, I don’t need your help or judgement anyway_ ’ which eventually got smoothed with a hug and a kiss, but never quite resolved.

So Jughead was up against a few challenges it seemed… _But that’s how you keep life interesting, isn’t?_ He justified to himself.

He diligently continued to put money into the Fun Fund, which was one of the warm feelings that helped him in his ‘lower’ moments. He needed to come up with _fun ideas_ to run past his dad on how to spend it and had been thinking about including this along with another conversation that had been toying with his mind.

He’d have to think more about that other one though, as it wasn’t to be brought up lightly.

Essentially what he wanted to say to FP was that perhaps he shouldn’t ask Gladys to come back to Sunnyside.

Jughead missed her - and Jellybean even more – of course. But the woman had made her choice and hadn’t _once_ looked back, even to just check on them.

It wasn’t to say that he didn’t actually want her back at the trailer; he _did_ want that very much.

But perhaps instead of ‘begging’ or having to be the ones to come forward, the Jones men could show the rest of the family just how well they were doing and wait for them to take an interest.

It felt like a more positive way of doing things. Him and FP were lovable, weren’t they? And their family was worth fighting for, wasn’t it? If FP and Jughead were working so hard towards a reunion, it seemed that the least Gladys could do was realize it and _ask._

That was all Jughead wanted to run past his dad. But not now. That, along with the rest, would come in due time.

\---

All these things were still on Jughead’s mind the next time he saw Archie for a quick catch up at Pop’s. He toyed with the idea of bringing up some of his concerns and ask for advice, but found himself unable to broach the subject.

He just had no idea where to start.

For one, Archie was definitely _not_ an FP supporter and this had been going on for as long as they could remember. Years of seeing his best friend’s family struggles – _thank god not all of them_ – had turned Archie into a cynic and he seemed to be looking for any opportunity to find failures in the Serpent King’s behavior, no matter how much praise or justification Jughead was ready to supply. Consequently, Archie wasn’t the best person to talk to when it came to discussing small things – _which were probably details anyway_ – and seeking reassurances regarding his father. The ‘best friend’s instincts’ – as Jughead liked to call them, explaining most of Archie’s sudden bursts of angry energy when defending him - would kick in immediately and strip away any nuance of judgment, which was sweet but not exactly helpful.

And as far as the ‘Betty conversation’ was concerned, it was a bit of a delicate situation. With the Cooper and Andrews homes being next to each other, the two had grown up together and developed a very strong bond. Even after a brief hesitance – when Betty had declared her love to Archie and was politely turned down - things had gone back to normal within a few weeks, meaning that they told each other nearly everything. While Jughead trusted both his best friend and his girlfriend, he was wary of comments made in passing that might be misinterpreted or taken out of context. It made talking to one about the other feel incongruous. This had always been the case and even more so now that Jughead was out of the loop on the gang’s daily activities and conversations.

Regardless of these factors, today Archie seemed too self-absorbed to really consider opening up to anyway, almost absent.

He kept looking at his phone and smiling at the sight of the evidently amusing conversation he was having back and forth, most likely with Veronica. 

He had talked at length about everything he was doing with Hiram. _The few work trips they had taken to Greendale, the people they had met in a ‘games club’ a couple of nights before, some of the new investments Hiram was thinking about..._

Jughead had always been a good listener, but at some point he tuned out.

Over time, he’d become a master at nodding on cue when he’d hear certain inflections or felt eyes on him. Not that any of Archie’s stories were boring per se, but it was more or less all the same.

Veronica was a goddess – the sex was great too, _thanks Arch’ for that detail_ – Hiram was bossy but fair, and absolutely _nothing_ was out of the ordinary in the golden boy’s life.

He’d even somehow managed to get himself elected class president even though he’d applied very little effort to his campaign. Cheryl Blossom – his co-president, as things had evolved that way in Riverdale High - had done all the hard work for him, and he was essentially the most popular kid in school.

So _nope_ , Archie certainly wouldn’t understand what Jughead was going through right now. He pulled his beanie a little further over his ears and absently nodded once more, for good measure.

‘Hey dude, did you listen to a word of what I just said?’

‘Yes.’ Jughead straightened up in his booth. ‘You’re thinking about asking Weatherbee for a new couch to replace the old one in the student’s lounge.’

‘That was like 3 topics ago Jug.’ Archie’s brows furrowed. ‘What’s up with you man? You look tired, and you’ve been zoning out for the last 2 hours.’

Oh. Archie _had_ noticed. And he _was_ asking questions after all. But no, Jughead wasn’t going to seize the opportunity.

He just had no idea where to start.

‘Hmm.’ He cleared his throat. ‘There’s absolutely nothing happening on my side of the tracks. It’s boring as hell, just school projects and… Work. I’m just living vicariously through your achievements Andrews!’

Archie observed him for a minute. He wasn’t entirely satisfied with this answer. He felt that he hadn’t been able to get much out of his best friend lately, just random stories here and there. Tidbits of the life he seemed to be leading _peacefully_ – according to Jug’s own words – in Sunnyside and nothing more.

But maybe it was his own fault, Archie thought. With all the time he was spending at Lodge Industries, football practice and homework, it wasn’t leaving much breathing space for anything else. Just Veronica essentially. He hadn’t even been playing that much music since Christmas. And that sort of pushed his best friend at the bottom of the list, unfortunately.

Archie wondered if Jughead was feeling it too and pulling out somehow a little bit. Like the summer before. Or maybe he just was being paranoid… Either way, if Jughead _wasn’t_ volunteering information, he wasn’t going to push him. He had learnt over time that it was utterly pointless, and that if his best friend was in this mood then nothing good would come out. End.

So he continued to make conversation for the both of them. At least Jughead seemed interested in hearing about what Fred was up to, and what new tricks Vegas was pulling these days. Like stealing food from the kitchen counter – totally new but hilarious as it reminded Archie of Jug.

That last comment made them both laugh and kept them going for a while.

\---

On his way home Jughead felt a nagging regret over the interaction that had just taken place. He genuinely missed his best friend and spent most of the week wishing they could hang out like they used to.

Yet when he was in front of Archie, he didn’t really know what to talk about these days. All topics felt too sensitive. A new sense of unease had been slowly growing in him, as if everything that he was doing wasn’t as interesting and shiny as the rest of the Riverdale High gang. It felt dull in comparison, insignificant.

 _He_ felt dull and insignificant.

All he really had to ‘boast’ about lately was the fact that he’d somehow miraculously managed to avoid any broken bones since Christmas. Even though he’d been ambushed twice more, the last time being just the week before.

In the boys' toilet of Southside High.

It had ended up with a bloody nose and a chipped tooth in the back of his mouth - _thank god_ \- so nothing too visible. When FP had pointed out the split lip and purplish cheek that evening, he’d answered that he had slipped on the snow on the way to school because he was running late, which sounded pretty believable. And was believed.

Every time one of these attacks happened, it seemed as if they chipped a little bit of color away from Jughead. _Like Pleasantville but the other way around_ , he thought in a moment of solitude.

Around him, everyone he loved looked bright, beaming, with a full palette of contrasts. But him… He looked as if he was slowly fading into the background, like a washed-out filter or an old piece of garment bleached by the moonlight.

He wondered if the others were seeing it too. Or if it was just him. Maybe it was just because he was feeling a little down. And tired; Archie had been right.

The next morning, he pulled out the scale from underneath the bathroom sink again. It’d been a couple of months since he’d checked.

128.

Jughead frowned; he was _really_ annoyed.

He’d somehow lost all the weight he’d manage to gain during the fall. And more. He was back to being a skinny little prick, as Archie would so delicately put it.

 _But the pounds will come back_ , he told himself. This was just a temporary setback. He just needed to get his response to stress – and getting beaten up regularly in a dark hallway - under control and not let it ruin his appetite.

It was simply counter-productive.


	6. Chapter 6

When Jughead came back from school that Thursday evening, he expected to find FP at the trailer. I always knew his dad’s schedule as he’d ask to see it at the beginning of each week, just to know more or less at what time he should listen to the door at night. That was just routine procedure, _not that he’d make that reasoning known._

This week was pretty light as FP had both Thursday and Friday off, which hadn’t happened in a while, however he was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he’d gone to visit one of the neighbors again.

But then dinner time came and went, and still no sign.

Jughead didn’t want to sound like a needy nerd, but _considerate roommates just let each other know what they’re up to, right?_

So at 10:45pm it seemed fair to text FP.

  * _Hey dad, you out? I’ve kept some dinner for you._



He waited an hour, and another. By about midnight he started feeling a little nervous.

At 12:40am he texted again.

  * _When are you coming home? Let me know please._



FP hadn’t been a _whole_ night out since he’d moved back into the trailer.

And a whole night out was code for The Whyte Wyrm. Which was code for… No, that just couldn’t be.

At 1:25am he was pacing in the living room.

  * _Dad please, where are you? I just want to know if you’re OK. Can you text me back as soon as you get this?_



He didn’t sleep a wink. There was no way he could.

At 7:00am he took a quick shower and headed out. He just needed to know if his dad was at the Serpent bar and wanted to check it out before going to school. There was no way he could sit through an entire day of classes without knowing.

For all Jughead knew, if his dad had been drinking he could very well lay injured somewhere. This had happened before and since he’d been a few months sober, the alcohol might have hit him harder.

Maybe he’d gotten into a fight or crashed his bike somewhere.

When the bartender informed him that ‘ _FP? We haven’t seen him since before the arrest’_ , Jughead didn’t know whether to be happy or not, and more importantly what to do. He was considering checking out the Serpent camp, although he wasn’t too fond of the idea.

Perhaps he could ask Toni?

He had twenty minutes left before the bell would ring and didn’t even know where exactly the camp was.

And then his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Jughead took it out so quickly that it slid in his hands and fell on to the ground. Thankfully the snow had absorbed the shock.

As he picked it up, he read on the screen.

  * _Heyy Jug I’m sorry bud, I fell asleep ridic early after a long drive. I’ve asked Pop to clear my schedule until Sunday as I’m working on a project that requires a bit of time. I’ll be late then too, so don’t wait up._



Jughead felt a jolt of panic hit his heart. What the hell was his dad doing?

He dialed immediately.

Luckily FP picked up. Jughead didn’t bother with morning greetings.

‘Dad what’s going on? Where are you? I got so worried when you didn’t come home last night.’ He was trying to tune down the clinginess. It really wasn’t working.

‘Whoa calm down champ, I’m fine! Grumpy much first thing in the morning? I’m… I’m just going to be away for a few days.’

‘Don’t you think you could have told me that? Left a note or something?’

‘I’m sorry, I spaced out.’

‘ _What_ are you doing dad?’ Jughead knew he sounded positively frantic. But honestly he didn’t care anymore.

‘I’m… I’m working on a surprise.’

Crap.

FP wasn’t that creative. This could only mean one thing.

‘Is this surprise in Toledo?’ He really wanted the answer to be _no._

‘Maybe.’ That positively meant _yes_.

Crap.

So much for showing the Jones ladies the way back home _nonverbally_. He exhaled loudly, and FP picked up on his drift.

‘What, you’re not happy or something?’

‘I wished we’d talked about this dad, I don’t think we’re quite there yet.’

‘What do you mean _we’re not quite there yet_ Jug _?_ We’re doing fantastic.’

His dad’s tone sounded like a reproach. As if Jughead was specifically _not_ on board with the ‘get the Jones family back together’ plan.

‘I mean… you wanted to fix the trailer up a bit. Don’t you think we could have done that first?’ _Forget it_ , he thought as he was speaking. It was too late anyway. Why was he even bothering with a redundant conversation?

‘Your mother isn’t going to care about a new piece of carpet, _Jughead_. Hell, we’ll let her choose it.’

Jughead stayed silent for a few seconds, which his dad finally perceived as worry.

‘Look, it’s going to be fine. I’ll talk to them and they’ll be driving back separately anyway since I’m on the bike. I’ll get a head start and we can clean the trailer together before they arrive… If it makes you feel better.’

There was no pushback possible.

And Jughead _did_ want his mom and sister to come home. He _did_ miss them very much, probably more than he’d been willing to admit to himself lately. So he might as well give in.

‘I’ll take care of the trailer Dad, just be careful on the road OK?’

‘That’s my boy!’

There he was, the intrepid crowd-leader. The father who got enthusiastic and believed in his family. It was all premature but touching nonetheless, and Jughead let the contagious happiness take hold of him for a few seconds.

 _Gladys and Jellybean Jones were finally coming back to Riverdale_.

\---

Once Jughead got over his initial surprise at the unexpected announcement, he allowed himself to release a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He felt a subsequent wave take slowly over him, although he wasn’t exactly sure how to qualify it.

It was either excitement at the idea of his family getting back together, or pure exhaustion from his sleepless night.

Either way, he needed to rush to school.

He arrived there ten minutes late - naturally, no one took notice – and started making a mental list of all the things that needed fixing in Sunnyside.

The best arrangement would be that his mom and dad would take the bedroom back and his sister the couch, which meant that he’d have to find the old cot he used to sleep on for himself. It was probably still in the small junk cupboard next to the boiler, as no one had really looked in there for a long time.

Perhaps now would be a good time to do a bit of spring cleaning anyway. Get rid of all the unwanted items and make room for Gladys' and Jellybean’s, as they would undoubtfully bring their own things accumulated in the two and a half years they were gone.

Jughead also thought he should invest in some new kitchen accessories. With his salary from the warehouse he could definitely spare on new sets of plates and cutlery, to make it look a bit more put together than it currently was with an odd assemble of old things.

 _That’s a priority to start fresh_ , he thought. And although it might have seemed trivial to outsiders, he wasn’t entirely wrong. A lot of the previous items had bad memories linked to them, like plates sometimes flying around the trailer. Regularly actually – as soon as Jellybean would be out the door. Especially in the months leading to Gladys’ departure, explaining the vast mismatch in the remaining dish stacks.

He texted Betty to share his happiness at the idea of seeing the Jones’ ladies at the end of the weekend. She kindly offered to come and help but he politely declined. It felt unfair to ask her to come and do house chores while she was so busy.

And then finally he got to it.

He started by scrubbing the whole place spotless, as if it was a crime scene and he needed to get rid of all the evidence. Even the inside of cupboards which hadn’t seen a sponge in _years_.

Next he looked at all the items in the trailer and decided which needed replacing. He made a list; new towels, bedsheets and little upgrades like an electric kettle. In his time with Betty he had learnt that a cup of tea does wonders to bring a tiny bit of warmth to someone. Both physically and metaphorically. So that was important.

And he wanted the best for his mom and sister. They deserved to be treated like royalty and he would take no shortcuts.

By Saturday the place already looked different. Jughead had even picked up some flowers and a new vase, which he placed on the kitchen bar.

The anticipation got him somewhat agitated and he slept very little that night. He hadn’t heard a whole lot from his dad who was just periodically sending his location, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary.

FP was more of a free agent and never felt that much of an obligation to communicate. Even to his son. If something needed to be said then he’d get in touch, but any chitchat was utterly unnecessary.

Jughead knew that it was more or less the way his father felt, nevertheless he wouldn’t have minded a few updates or pictures along the way. Just for reassurances.

But he waited patiently and by Sunday morning was up and ready for the big return.

At around 10:00am there was a knock on the door which he knew couldn’t be his family yet. They simply wouldn’t make the effort of making their presence known; they’d just come in.

Jughead got up from the couch and opened – a little bewildered – to find an all-smiling Betty at the door with a picnic basket.

‘Hey Betts, it’s so nice to see you.’

His girlfriend kissed him on the cheek and stepped in, eyes circling the room.

‘Wow Juggie, you did a great job! This place looks fantastic.’

He blushed a little, not knowing if ‘ _fantastic_ ’ really applied to a trailer unit which he even himself hesitated to call a ‘house’ sometimes. But he was appreciative of her notice.

‘Oh thanks.’ Jughead looked down at his feet. ‘It’s not quite Elm Street but hopefully they’ll still like it.’

‘ _Of course_ they will.’ Betty approached him and gave him a tight hug.

In her voice, there was that familiar little tone of reassurance and pride which he loved hearing so much. Between the lines it said something like ‘ _you try so hard at everything and you deserve to be loved’_.

Perhaps it was a little childish of Jughead to be looking for that comfort, but Betty was so good at giving it without making it obvious. She was a little island of paradise, just to herself. They shared a brief moment together, before she pointed to the basket.

‘I wanted to bring a few things every home needs.’ She was beaming with delight at the idea of contributing to the sprucing-up effort. ‘All super random items because I knew you’d take care of the essentials.’

‘Hmm, I’m intrigued.’

‘A garlic press, because every household needs one.’ She chuckled. ‘A vanilla-scented candle, because Archie said that Jellybean is a big fan of things on the sweet side.’

‘Yeah, like majorly!’

‘A nice throw to snuggle together in front of the TV...’

‘You mean for Jellybean and my mom?’ He raised an eyebrow, amused.

‘No, that one is for you and me.’ Betty pouted slightly. ‘I haven’t spent as much time here as I would have liked but eventually when this Blackhood stuff is all resolved, I want to come more often.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

Even though in theory Jughead did mean what he said, he somehow frowned slightly, which Betty didn’t miss.

‘Hey, what’s going on?’ You seem preoccupied.’

‘No no, it’s nothing.’ He quickly erased the expression off his face.

‘I can tell there is _something_ Jug, talk to me.’

He let a long sigh out.

‘It’s just… I’m just a bit worried about how it’s all going to go, that’s all.’

‘It’ll be fine, I’m sure.’

He just nodded silently, his mind still clouded.

Betty meant well, but she had no idea what she was talking about.

She didn’t know Gladys and more specifically Gladys’ extremely short fuse. She didn’t know that when he was little, Gladys sometimes – _not too often, maybe like once or twice a week, tops_ \- sent him to bed without dinner because of something stupid he had done, like spilling milk or dropping a fork on the floor as he helped her set the table. Or simply for saying the wrong thing, whatever that was. She didn’t know that sometimes if Gladys was too annoyed, she’d throw him out of the house for a few hours, even at night time, even if it snowed. Without so much of a coat. _But that was extremely rare, like once or twice a month, tops._

As he furtively remembered these memories, a shadow passed over Jughead’s face, and he suddenly looked nervous. 

Betty noticed this and came closer, taking his hand and squeezing it lightly.

He so wished he could talk to her, unload a little bit about the uncertainties that were haunting him.

But just as it had happened with Archie, he just froze. He didn’t know how much he could say, and how much was _too much_. He didn’t want to freak out his girlfriend about things she had never experienced herself. It might be hard for her to understand or even believe.

Most of all, Jughead was worried that if he started opening up, there would be no end to the stories he told her. Would she still love him if she heard every diminishing detail he kept secret? Like how easily he let other people walk all over him? It was such an unbecoming attitude. Wimpy, like his mom used to call him.

Maybe Betty, _too_ , would start seeing him as worth less, or perhaps even plain worthless.

Never in a million years, had he ever thought that he was good enough for Betty Cooper. The perfect, bright-eyed, angelic girl that had somehow so generously shared her grace with him. He hardly knew why that was, and it had taken him a while to accept that she did so, but now he craved her presence and love like a drug.

So _no_ , he wasn’t going to ruin his good fortune by scaring her away with obscure details of his grim life.

Instead, he offered to ‘try out’ the new gift, and they snuggled together under the blanket which Betty had chosen baby pink – her signature color – ‘to make it look like it was for the Jones’ women’. 

Jughead allowed himself to relax a little against Betty’s warm and inviting body, and smiled candidly at the episode of _I love Lucy_ they were watching together. At some point his eyelids got very heavy and he drifted off into a semi-sleep while hearing his girlfriend’s soft chuckles in the background.

 _This had to be what happiness looked like_ , he furtively said to himself.

\---

That thought was long gone by Sunday evening as he was nervously waiting for his family to arrive. He hadn’t heard much from FP and was getting more anxious by the minute. His dad had texted in the morning saying he was on his way back, but hadn’t specified when or what the arrangement was.

Therefore Jughead paced impatiently around the trailer, fixing up any last-minute thing that didn’t look entirely perfect. And the more ground he was covering with his eyes, the more he could find that _wasn’t_ perfect.

At least it kept him busy.

Which is probably why he hardly heard when the door suddenly burst open at around 7:30pm, letting a cold drift seep inside along with a crazed-looking FP.

When Jughead heard his name shouted from the main room however, he _immediately_ knew something was wrong.

It was all in the tone and intensity FP had used, which he recognized all too well. He leapt out of the bathroom where he had been scrubbing the shower joints - for what had to be the 20th time – and nearly stumbled when he came face to face with his father in the tiny entrance.

‘What is it dad? Did something happen?’ A hint of fear could be heard in his voice. Perhaps his mom and sister had had some sort of accident; the desperate look in FP’s eyes suggested something this bad.

‘She said _no_ , Jug. She didn’t want to come back.’

FP slammed his hands on his son’s shoulders and heavily leaned on him, already collapsing to his knees. Jughead caught him in time but they hit the floor nonetheless, under his father’s much heavier weight.

‘I tried everything Jug! I told her how well we were doing here, that I haven’t had a drink since before prison, and that I got a steady job… _How much I love her_.’ His voice trailed off a bit. ‘But she said that she and Jellybean were happier on their own, and that their life was a lot simpler without us in it. She said that we’d wreck things for them and drag them back down.’

FP was crying and Jughead couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen that happen. It simply chilling.

‘She said not to bother coming back.’ His father continued. ‘Neither me nor you, that she’d keep Jellybean away from us both even if we did, because she didn’t want us to ruin her with our problem-infested lives.’

The words hit Jughead like an anvil. He felt his insides twist immediately in a hundred knots, so tightly and painfully that it prevented him from opening his mouth and pronounce a single word.

‘Jug this is a disaster. I failed… I failed at the _one thing_ I most wanted in this life. My wife and my daughter, _gone forever_ now. I have nothing left, nothing worth in this world.’

Oh.

It hurt too much to hear this, and to see his dad entirely broken and hopeless. FP had been doing so well since they'd both come back to live in Sunnyside, it was utterly gutting to feel his heart break right in front of him like this.

Let alone Jughead’s too.

‘Don’t say that dad, I’m here for you. We’ll make it, you’ll see. We have each other and that’s all that matters. We’ll be fine, I promise you. Please don’t cry dad, _please._ ’

FP gripped on to him as if his life depended on it, while he sobbed in gut-wrenching gasps. Jughead hugged him back as hard as he could, trying to ground him and soothe him at the same time.

He could feel the tears sting in the corner of his own eyes but firmly blinked to hold them back. He needed to be strong for his dad, he needed to forget his own pain at being left behind - _all over again_ \- and concentrate on FP.

Show him that they were OK, and that they’d get through this too.

That they didn’t need anyone else, especially someone who _didn’t_ want them.

That there was something in FP’s life worth fighting for. That _he_ was something in his life worth fighting for.

Slowly but surely, it was becoming harder to breathe. Jughead didn’t know if it was because his dad unintentionally had him in a choke hold or because he was overcome with emotions.

Most likely it was a little bit of both.

His chest felt tight, his entire being constricted and painful.

But he _had_ to snap out of it.

For FP’s sake, and to try and get them past this awful moment. Then they’d take each minute at a time. Figure it out, somehow.

Jughead started directing them both into a breathing exercise. He’d learnt that when he was younger and started facing regular panic attacks as bullies at school made his life so difficult. That was something the school nurse had been pretty useful for actually.

‘Follow me dad, please. Inhale… Hold… Exhale. Let’s do it again.’

He would have liked to pull his dad up on his feet but didn’t have the kind of strength it required.

“Inhale… Hold… Exhale.’

Jughead wasn’t entirely sure if he was doing this for his dad or for himself but he carried on anyway. It took a few minutes before FP even attempted to listen to his son, but eventually he eventually did and they synchronized.

They stayed in this position for a while until it felt safe for them to part, and then looked at each other in mournful silence.


	7. Chapter 7

The next few days were excruciatingly painful to go through.

Unexpected blows and hits were one thing, but heartbreak was a _whole new beast_. If he could have traded, Jughead would have been willing to go through 100 beatings in order to avoid the agonizing limbo which seemed to suddenly possess the trailer.

And the teenager ached not just for himself, but for his dad as well.

That seemed to be worse somehow, because if Jughead could more or less shove away his own feelings by distracting himself with a truckload of obligations, he knew for a fact that FP wasn’t as successful, and he had to watch all the lingering anguish unfold without being able to do a _single_ thing about it.

It wasn’t convenient that he had to be at school, because he would have liked to stay home and closely watch his dad to make sure nothing bad happened. But by skipping the last couple of periods – _pretty useless anyway as they didn’t even take attendance_ – he could hurry back home to push his old man off the couch and out the door. The job was too important, pivotal even, to keep them afloat so they really couldn’t afford for FP to lose it.

Jughead got into the habit of joining at Pop’s with his laptop in tow, and took it upon himself to stay for the entire shifts – currently until about 12:30am – pretending that he didn’t feel like being alone at home and felt more productive in the bustling place.

This cycle lasted for about 3 weeks after which he was simply _exhausted_ but a little more confident that they might be past the worst.

FP was progressively showing more willingness to move around on his own without his son acting as his personal timekeeper, and started protesting – at least a bare minimum - when Jughead would settle under these false pretenses at the diner… Although FP never quite suggested that his son just go home to bed, which would have been the reasonable thing to do.

The rest of the Riverdale High gang acted with tremendous amounts of care, showing up randomly – but in what Jughead identified to be an _organized manner_ as they were clearly taking turns – to hang out with him at Pop’s and offering material comfort in the form of countless edible goods. Which he refused 90% of the time because he saw absolutely no reason why everyone else should be out of pocket and _literally pay_ for the consequences of Gladys’ rejection. He’d say yes to black coffee, which seemed to be the only acceptable gesture he could agree to. And appeared to be on the house constantly these days. _Bless Pop Tate’s never-ending generosity._

That next weekend – exactly 19 days after _Toledogate,_ as Jughead had nicknamed it to himself – FP was thankfully off, which meant that he could try and catch his breath too.

He was way ahead in all of his classes – _smashing that valedictorian position by a long mile_ – thanks to all the extra time at Pop’s to study, and didn’t have any shifts at the warehouse either, as he’d gone into the habit of doing a steady 4:30am to 7:30am every school day.

Which left him roughly 3 hours of sleep per night.

This may have sounded a little bit unsustainable to some – the Riverdale school nurse would probably have a fit if she knew… Though honestly she was absolutely delusional about 8 hours anyway, _no one ever gets this much_ – but it worked OK for Jughead on 2 accounts.

The first one; because it was temporary so _no need to panic_ , and the second one; because he actually got to _crash_ this whole time and felt that it was far more beneficial than 6 hours of more or less just waiting around wide awake, which was the case when his insomnia flared up.

And no doubt the current state of things would make that happen.

Therefore that morning - with no obligation in sight - Jughead woke up to the light chirping of birds outside his window and the sweet scent of bacon coming from the kitchen.

He checked his phone; 10:37am. No texts.

He already had a good feeling about the day... Cooking smells meant that FP was up – _good_ -, and that he’d gone out to the store because there was nothing to eat at the trailer – _great_ -, which meant he was somewhat functional and in the mood to actually take some initiative – _fantastic_. This was all-so-very encouraging.

He threw on his hoodie and plaid pyjama pants – _his dad didn’t need to see the large welts on his lower back and knee from the sparring of the week_ – and headed out, a big smile on his face.

As he approached the open space however, he was surprised to hear more than one voice. One was hoarse and rather monosyllabic – his dad – and one was sweet and upbeat – Betty.

 _Betty?_ Oh shit.

He swiftly turned into the bathroom before being seen, to make himself somewhat presentable and regroup.

What was she doing here? Had he missed something; like a text, or her telling him that she’d stop by today? He had zero clue, but _really_ wasn’t expecting this. He splashed a bit of water on his face and brushed his teeth quickly, then took a deep breath and headed out again.

‘Hey sleepy head!’ His girlfriend greeted when she caught a glimpse of his face.

_God, she was pretty. Best sight first thing in the morning._

She got up to give him a peck on the cheek. Jughead didn’t miss FP’s smirk as he observed them both from his seated position.

‘Hope you’re hungry, son.’ He waved at the healthy spread of food on the table. It had _Cooper_ signed all over it; so _no,_ FP hadn’t gotten up to go to the store. And his tone was polite but far too jaded to mean good news.

‘Your dad and I were just getting to know each other Jug!’ She sounded inconspicuously excited.

They’d never got around to having that dinner together. Of course, Betty had seen FP at Pop’s and she remembered him from old times too, but the two of them had never had a proper one-to-one discussion before. And Betty just loved people, so she was genuinely taking an interest.

However, Jughead simply wished she had asked him prior to just showing up, because moods were very tricky to anticipate. Even if things were - generally speaking – starting to look better, there were still good days and bad days. He sat down heavily as his girlfriend busied herself fixing him a plate, completely oblivious to his thoughts.

‘Betty here has been telling me all about the _exciting_ life on the Northside.’ FP seemed fine making small talk, but his eyes conveyed more annoyance than anything else. Not that Betty would identify that. ‘Apparently, it’s safer around _here_ these days.’ He chuckled ironically.

‘I was just catching up your dad on the latest Blackhood details, he hasn’t had a chance to read yesterday’s report yet.’

‘I doubt that I will. We’re not exactly a _Register_ family here, Betty.’ FP corrected.

‘Oh but Jug loves investigations, and he is an excellent journalist! He’s written lots of great pieces for the Blue & Gold before…’

‘Before what?’ FP stopped her. ‘And what’s the _Blue & Gold_?’ FP was talking to Betty, but staring at Jughead.

‘She just meant before I moved back here.’ Jughead supplied before Betty could resume. ‘It’s the newspaper at Riverdale High, dad.’

‘I see. And is there one at Southside High?’

Urgh. Not that old _thing_ again.

It seemed that every time someone mentioned something Jughead used to do on the Northside, his father would tense. It was weird and a little childish. Jughead had attended that school for _years_ and naturally still had many ties over there... But increasingly, it felt frowned upon to mention his ‘before life'. It seemed to give FP a bizarre insecurity about not being able to compete.

Which could come out a little bit unkindly sometimes.

‘No dad, there isn’t.’ Jughead finally answered. ‘There used to be one, but there wasn’t any budget to keep it up. And from what I’ve heard, no one read it anyway.’

‘Huh, huh.’

Jughead did his best effort to swiftly move on and thanked Betty for her delicious breakfast. She was beaming with enthusiasm - which was touching of course – but didn’t seem to notice that she was basically getting one-word answers from FP. Who was looking at her like she was some kind of misplaced tropical bird lost in the predatory jungle.

The two teenagers kept the conversation going and FP just looked at them with his arms crossed, as if deeply lost in his own thoughts.

Maybe Jughead had misjudged how _good_ this day was shaping up to be. His dad seemed more off than he had been in a while, and it was quickly getting tiring to split his attention between him and his girlfriend without being caught.

And FP had _that look_.

Less than half an hour later, as Betty offered coffee for the third time, FP politely declined and jumped up to grab his leather jacket.

Before Jughead could pronounce a word to find out where he was headed, his dad cut off with a ‘ _I’ll be back later, don’t wait around for me’_ , and slammed the door after nodding his thank yous to Betty.

Jughead immediately got up and paced.

There was no point running after FP as the bike was already roaring outside and he knew all too well what this sort of mood would bring, but it didn’t mean that he could stop the jolt of worry that erupted in his chest.

‘Hmm Jug, what just happened?’ Betty asked, not entirely sure what she had witnessed.

‘Nothing, it’s fine.’ Jughead hadn’t meant for his tone to be so harsh.

‘Did I do something wrong?’ Panic rose in her green eyes.

_Oh now she looked anxious. Deep breath._

‘No, no. Nothing, don’t worry about it.’ Why the fuck couldn’t he make himself sound nicer right now?!

‘Jug, I just wanted to do a nice thing… Bring you guys some comfort.’

‘You did Betts, he was probably just upset about something else. You didn’t catch him on a good day, that’s all.’

Frankly, Jughead had zero time to worry about her too.

His mind was racing with questions; where was his father going? Would he drink? Should he go after him? Should he text to ask him to come home? Or give him some space…

‘Is he going to hate me?’ She resumed. ‘Or think I’m like super rude for encroaching into his privacy or something?’

‘I don’t know Betty!’ Jughead finally snapped. ‘You have to admit that it’s all a bit much. You should have texted me. _Jesus,_ I was still sleeping… What if he was too? Would you have let yourself in? I’m sorry but it’s just really awkward you know. Why didn’t you just _ask_?’

Oh crap. Whyever did he have to say all of this out loud?

Jughead saw a flash pass over Betty’s eyes. It was somewhere between anger and sadness. It was _hurt_. He’d just managed to hurt her. The very thing he _never_ wanted to do.

He stopped pacing immediately, as if frozen in his tracks. He could see tears forming in her eyes already and deeply regretted every word he’d just said.

Betty stared back at him for a second, and then suddenly leaped from behind the kitchen table. She grabbed her coat and keys, and before Jughead could get to her she had stormed out the front door with her picnic basket in hand.

‘Wait Betty, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!’ He shouted after her, unable to run barefoot on the snowy grounds.

‘Oh don’t worry Jughead, message received _loud and clear_. You don’t want me around.’

‘Please don’t go, I _do_ want you here!’

‘Too late, I don’t want to stay anyway. I don’t feel very welcome right now. _I’m sorry but it’s just really awkward you know.’_

She wasn’t trying to make a scene. She really wasn’t. So why did she have this little nagging feeling that it had just been one? By the time she had started questioning it, it was too late; she was already in her mom’s car and out of Sunnyside.

\---

As soon as Betty left the trailer, Jughead felt an unbearable heaviness take over him entirely.

It was as if his body was being compressed by a massive clamp, and his mind started racing with panicked thoughts, constantly hopping between his girlfriend and his dad, and more importantly _what to do_ about either of them.

Call, text, apologize? Jeez, this was stressful. Bargain, cry, do nothing? His chest was tightening and his throat closing up. Go and find FP, run to Betty’s, just stay here and wait? His breaths were becoming threateningly shallower and his mind harder to control.

He hadn’t felt this sensation since his mom had left a few years before, but he understood instantly where things were heading. He’d lived through it so many times.

No, no, no. He _couldn’t_ let it happen. It would be like opening Pandora’s box. And he was done with this shit now, wasn’t he?

He needed to monitor his own breathing, let air actually get in all the way instead of taking small gasps that didn’t reach his lungs. It really wasn’t rocket science. So why the fuck couldn’t he simply _make_ himself do that?

Jughead tentatively extended an arm behind him to search for the wall. In his agitated state he couldn’t judge how far it was, and the whole room now appeared to be expanding as his vision got more and more distorted and sounds progressively felt further and further away.

It was crucial that he lowered himself on to the ground safely as the last thing he needed was a gash on his eyebrow if he hit a chair or the kitchen counter on his way down.

The more he tried to prevent the inevitable, the more he hyperventilated. It was like an atomic reaction fast getting out of control and imploding at full speed.

FP. Betty. He’d just majorly fucked up everything today, hadn’t he just? Betty. FP. So much for a quiet Saturday, he should have just stayed in bed. F…B… How much longer was it going to take before he was officially out… of... ox...y...g'..?

‘ _I need to clean up this breakfast mess’_ was weirdly the last thing that reached his mind before everything went dark and he passed out on the hard cold kitchen linoleum.

\---

When Jughead finally woke up, he was completely unable to tell how long he’d been out. He stayed on the ground a little while longer, eyes closed, oscillating between sort of awake and actually aware, not yet ready to form a coherent thought in his brain.

What ended up bringing him fully back to consciousness was the fact that he was _freezing_ as hell, and that the floor was about the most uncomfortable surface one could be lying on. He pushed himself in a seated position with much difficulty, head still pounding.

Panic attacks always seemed to take everything out of him, and this had been a particularly _bad_ one. He wondered if it was because it’d been so long since his last… Perhaps it was the equivalent of not drinking for a long time leading to being entirely trashed from just one beer upon starting again. Because your body wouldn’t be used to it anymore or something.

Jughead just sat there for a bit, taking long calming breaths in, as if he was trying to make up for all the ones he hadn’t been able to get in his frantic moment. And he still had to decide what to do.

He ended up writing the same text to both Betty and his dad.

_\- I’m really sorry. Please don’t be mad and let me know you’re OK._

That was all he was capable of coming up with in the moment, his mind still being a mixture of fuzzy and blank.

He saw the read receipt from Betty immediately, but nothing from his dad. And neither sent an actual response. There was absolutely nothing else he could do as he didn’t want to sound needy or desperate, so he slowly got up, cleaned the kitchen and got his schoolbooks out.

After a few hours of studying, he checked his phone again, knowing perfectly well that nothing had changed but almost hoping that the act alone could summon replies.

It didn’t seem so strange that FP hadn’t made contact yet, that was simply his style… But Betty? That was most unusual. And worrisome.

At around 8:30pm, a nervous Jughead surrendered to chasing.

_\- Betty, please answer me. I overreacted and I wish I could take it all back. I am really really sorry, I mean it._

He saw the three little dots indicating that she was typing and just stared, unable to take his eyes off. This went on and off for about five minutes but just stopped. Without an actual reply.

Jughead put the phone down and covered his face with both his hands. There was a painful cramp taunting his stomach and he knew he would be unable to eat or sleep until he received reassurances that his girlfriend and dad were fine. If only he could get at least one of them to confirm that.

Another two hours went by and he decided to give it one more go.

To his dad he wrote:

 _\- Come home please, I’m waiting for you._ He didn’t actually believe that it would change much but he needed to try anyway.

To Betty he wrote:

 _-_ _I love you, you mean the world to me. I don’t want to lose you._

Then Jughead got up and headed for the shower. He’d never got around to taking one and it was the only attainable comfort he could think of right now. He was already wet and about to grab the soap when he heard his phone go off in the distance.

He immediately felt a sharp pang bolt through his heart, and rushed out completely naked, nearly tripping on his way over. It was Betty. She simply said:

_\- I love you too Jug, but I need a bit of time to think on my own. Let’s just take it easy for a few days. Good night._

What did it mean? ‘ _A bit of time to think on my own’_ … ‘ _Take it easy’...?_ That didn’t sound positive at all. Jughead was beyond worried, but what could he do? Apologize again? Would it make any difference? All he could say was:

_\- I understand Betty, take all the time you need. I’m here for you whenever feels right._

And without thinking further he sent another one immediately.

_\- I’m a complete idiot and I miss you already._

OK, that one made him sound _really_ clingy. He knew it. But he meant every word, and couldn’t help but tell her how he felt.

Another text came through.

\- _No Jughead you’re not an idiot, there’s just been a lot going on. This tipped me over and I need to regroup. Speak next week._

 _Next week?_ It was going to be a dreadfully long wait… And what _exactly_ was going on? He wanted to know.

But she had just asked to be left alone, and he had to respect that. If Betty needed space, he would give it to her. He’d give her anything to be honest. He couldn’t run the risk of making things worse for himself.

He went back to the shower and softly cried there for a few minutes. He could _not_ lose Betty, he would simply die if that happened. 

To try and take his mind off of her, he transferred his worry over to FP.

He didn’t have the energy to go search for him, and knew that it wouldn’t go down well if he did. The best thing would be to stay put and wait for his dad to come home. Therefore, once he was ready and wondering how to pass the time, he made himself a cup of tea and sat down with a book on the couch. 

An hour later he got up for a second cup. And then a third, and a fourth.

At around 3am he started feeling the anxiety flare up again and decided to head to bed, hoping that lying flat might help regulate his respiration.

It did. _Thank god._

Therefore he just waited there in mournful silence, trying to shut down his fears by telling himself that he was just being silly and over the top. That FP would soon be back and they could have a big old laugh at how dramatic he had been. Like Kevin Keller levels of dramatics. 

Because; that’s what was happening, right? He was just being a bit hysterical over this whole thing. The lack of sleep was probably responsi…

Suddenly the front door opened.

Jughead instantly snapped out of his internal mumbling and sat up in his bed. It was 5:12am. He didn’t know if he should go out there and talk to FP. He silently got out of bed and put his ear against the wall to try and distinguish what might be happening on the other side.

And it sounded… _Messy_. Shoes thrown carelessly, jacket unzipped and discarded on the floor, curse words and hiccups.

Jughead’s heart sank. Maybe even stopped for a second. Or three.

He knew all too well the melody to this music. The one he’d been trying so hard to prevent over these last few months. The one that would _ruin_ FP. Possibly for good this time.

He stayed still for a few minutes, wondering if he should walk out to the living room and witness FP’s drunken state to be 100% sure. But he just didn’t have the strength. Not right now.

Jughead crawled back into bed, praying that he was just wrong and that it had been a big misinterpretation on his part. He pulled the sheets over his head and just ignored the world around him.

Because for as long as he didn’t have to face his dad, he could _pretend_ that everything was still OK.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been bored so... Here's a new chapter ahead of schedule! As mentioned before, comments and kudos are really appreciated if you are enjoying the reading :)

Later that morning, after a few ten-minute spells of superficial sleep – giving him _zero_ rest at all – Jughead finally decided to rise from underneath his feathered shield. He had just noticed, much to his dismay, that the trailer smelled like bacon again.

 _Please let it not be a stupid groundhog day,_ he told himself sarcastically. He really couldn’t live through another one of those.

He massaged his temples as if it might do anything to conjure the energy he needed to face the music, and headed out to the kitchen, copiously dragging his feet in the process.

There, he found FP cooking what had to be the previous day’s leftovers and sat down without so much as looking at him. His deadpan expression alone would tell Jughead the answer to the question he arrantly dreaded, but perhaps he could prolong the illusion of a sober dad a little while longer if he just managed to avoid eye contact. Possibly for eternity.

Unfortunately, Jughead had no such luck. FP himself turned around and peered intently at his son as he said without any prior greeting:

‘I slipped up, Jug. But I don’t owe you an apology or an explanation. It won’t happen again. End of story.’

 _Oh._ So they were past the point of long-winded excuses and hushed apologies, apparently? 

Jughead sighed heavily in lieu of an answer. A lecture was utterly pointless and a guilt-trip even more so. He just knew that there was literally no form of communication that would get through to his father and make him acknowledge the seriousness of the situation.

Let alone get help for it.

But there was _no_ mistake to be made here; this _wasn’t_ just a ‘slip-up’, who was FP even trying to kid? Slip-ups never came and went as a one-time event… He should know this by now. He was well over forty and had a twenty-year experience in the so-called battle against alcoholism. Rather than a simple lapse of judgment, these _episodes_ were always an open door to a whole new level of shit and th…

‘Hey boy, you look like a ghost.’ FP observed, swiftly snapping Jughead out of his daydreaming and rerouting the attention. He pushed a plate towards his son as a meager peace offering. ‘Have you been eating and sleeping OK?’ _No, not remotely, partly thanks to your exploits._

‘Yes dad, I’m fine. Just concentrate on yourself please.’

‘Actually, why don’t we both agree to do that?’ FP sat down for what was shaping up to be a serious chat. ‘Look, Jug. I appreciate the help you’ve been adamant to give lately but I think we need to do our own thing for a bit. We can’t constantly be on top of each other like this...’

_Huh. Was that his dad’s interpretation of what had been happening over the past few weeks?_

‘… I’ve got things under control and you just have to trust me with it.’ FP added.

Jughead stared aimlessly in silence, because voicing the million objections currently boiling in his head would just lead to a massive fight. He just knew it. But before he could say anything anyway, his dad moved on to another topic:

‘And do me a favor… Keep that girl of yours at a distance, will you? The last thing I need is another judgmental Cooper hovering in the background. It’s hard enough without all the prejudice and stuck-up looks.’

 _Wait, what?_ No, this wasn’t fair. No one got to slash Betty’s name without serious words from Jughead. Especially not his own father who was always mean for no reason when he recovered from an excessive night.

‘What has she ever done to you?’ Surprisingly - even to Jughead himself - his tone had turned defiant, which was _never_ the case. ‘I know yesterday was a little too spontaneous but that doesn’t make Betty a bad person. Quite the contrary, _dad._ She cares so much, and all she wanted to do was to help.’

‘But we don’t need help, _Jughead_.’ For some unknown reason, FP now had switched to a near murderous look on his face. That peacock _I-can-do-it-all-on-my-own_ expression that his son had come to absolutely hate. ‘Especially from a Northside goody two shoes. I just don’t like her getting all up in our business. That’s all.’

‘Well, I happen to _like_ and _want_ her all up in my business dad, she’s my girlfriend.’

FP guffawed and Jughead turned livid.

Betty had been nothing but supportive and kind to him, and he was so blessed that an angel like her so much as agreed to _look_ at him. Even when he was nothing and had no one else to turn to in his months of homelessness and utter desperation - back when Archie and him weren’t on speaking terms - Betty had shown so much compassion and generosity towards him that sometimes Jughead thought that she was the only reason he had survived.

How dare FP reduce her to these pejorative terms when he knew _nothing_ about her?

‘Jughead, you are a complete fool if you think this little affair of yours is going to last. _Women like that don’t stay with men like us._ ’

Anger was immediately replaced by disbelief. What did his dad even mean? And why had he turned so sour in the space of thirty seconds?

‘She’s only going to be entertained for so long, boy. You’re nothing but a _project_ to her; all she wants to do here is a quick charity act for your sorry ass, and then she’ll move on presto to some football jock. Christ, how could you be so stupid? You might even be the object of a bet she’s trying to win, or research for her college essay… All about life on the wrong side of the tracks, courtesy of the freak show she thinks she’s witnessing here.’

_No. Huh, huh. Not happening._

FP wasn’t going to get away with making cheap assumptions and lashing out at the love of his life like that. Just because Gladys had rejected him didn’t mean his father got to spread his venom and unhappiness on to others, pulling everyone down with him in his destructive wrath.

‘Dad, no offense but _I’m not_ the one putting on a freak show here. You’re doing that all on your own.’

Oof. This was low. Much lower than Jughead had ever intended it to be. Maybe this would earn him a slap? Most likely… He was fully expecting it. He’d obtained far worse results for much less in the past. When the blow didn’t come though, Jughead found himself looking up with fear. What else was FP cooking up instead?

The grin he caught on his father’s face was nothing but a taunt. A scold. An insult laced with sarcasm and mockery. And finally cold words came slicing through the silence.

‘Ah. You think you’re so much better than me boy, don’t you?’ FP finally spat out. ‘You think that you are so almighty with all your youth… That your grand ideas and _ideals_ are going to pull you out of this fucking shithole?’

Jughead found himself paralyzed. He couldn’t answer. He’d already said the most horrible thing he thought himself capable of. Anything below that was _not_ worth airing. It would only dig deeper into a pit of depravity that he did not want to touch. Not under _any_ circumstances.

So he just sat there instead, absorbing FP’s toxic blame like a punchbag.

‘No matter how smart you _think_ you are, you’ll end up in one of those jackets too Jug. I just know it. In fact, you remind me of myself and your grandfather… Daddy dearest Forsythe Pendleton Jones, _the first._ We had the exact same conversation twenty years ago, you know, and I simply didn’t believe him. I thought I was going to be so much more. Get out of this stupid dump and make something of myself, whatever it was… And _look at me now._ ’

Jughead felt tears prickling the inside of his eyelids. His dad was wrong, fundamentally so. They were _nothing_ alike. There was no way he would ever become a Serpent. Or an alcoholic… Or both. He worked _so_ hard to extract himself, and hardship itself _wasn’t_ hereditary. It didn’t run through bloodlines, he was sure of it. He had scrutinized his Biology and AP Economy textbooks enough to realize that he _could_ indeed become something if he poured all his energy into it.

So why was he still letting this disenchanted lullaby get to his core in such a profound and disturbing way?

Before he even had a chance to answer this question, FP added the final nail to the coffin.

‘It is literally a step-and-repeat, Jug. Alice Cooper - _then Smith-_ and I used to dream of changing the world together. Oh we were invincible, boy! We wanted nothing but excitement and new horizons. We had _hopes._ We thought we were going to shake it all up, through sheer willpower and love. We thought we were so much more than everybody else, _especially_ our old folks... But love doesn’t do shit Jughead, love doesn’t last. Love _lies_. Love is a weapon against your better judgment. Give it a week, and it will turn _against_ you. I’m telling you now, sooner than later that perfect blond baby-doll of yours is going to drag you through the mud and wreck your insides as if you were just a worthless and pathetic insect that needs to be exterminated. I’m just warning you, I mean really I’m doing you a favor…’

This was enough.

It was vengeful and uncalled for, and there was no way Jughead was going to sit one more minute in this insufferable environment.

He swiped the untouched breakfast plate off the table with anger and sprung to his feet. He grabbed his jacket and stepped into his converse shoes with intent, slamming the door on his way out to make the statement he didn’t know how to put into words.

It was only fifteen minutes later, well into the depth of Fox Forest, that Jughead realized that he had not grabbed his phone or wallet, was still in his pajamas and was colder than death itself.

He had _nowhere_ to go. He couldn’t turn up at the trailer with his blue lips curled into an apologetic smile… He’d just stormed out to stand for himself, he wasn’t about to go back on it all. FP would enjoy this too much. See it as weakness and use this against him in a future argument.

He also couldn’t head to Archie’s – who certainly wouldn’t let the whole ‘ _I bolted out with nothing on my back’_ situation fly without a serious interrogation - and run the risk of being seen through the window by Betty. He _had_ to leave her in peace and his presence on Elm Street alone would be against the principle.

Jughead attempted to warm himself up by jogging on the spot and breathing heavily into his fists. The problem, however, was that these actions were starting to make him feel lightheaded. Or maybe it was just the fact that he was outside in sub-zero temperatures with very little clothing. He wasn’t thinking entirely straight. The last solid food he’d actually consumed dated back to the previous day, when shit had hit the fan at Betty’s surprise breakfast. It seemed like forever ago.

For a couple of minutes, he contemplated lying on the soft white ground and wait to see if anyone would come search for him. But as no one even knew he was out there apart from his semi-lunatic father who wasn’t going to lift a finger in his current state, so he’d most likely freeze to death.

 _It’d be a relatively painless but rather silly death_ , he thought furtively.

Therefore, before the cold air could numb his last shred of self-preservation instinct, he ran to the one place he knew would be open and would accept him without an ounce of judgment. Or a single dime in his pocket.

As he pulled the familiar door and heard the bell chime above him, Jughead let the warmth seep into his skin all the way to his heart. He put his head down and simply walked to his usual booth with no form of ceremony.

Pop Tate promptly came over to say hi, clean cup and coffee pot in hand. He gave the teenager a quick once over; no gloves, no scarf, not even his precious beanie. Skin whiter than snow and eyes red-rimmed, thin shoulders shaking like he’d just been dumped out of a moving vehicle. If only he could give his employees a formal warning for the way they behaved outside of the workplace, Pop thought, brooding quietly.

Jughead immediately moved his hands underneath the table, to hide the fact that they had turned a nasty shade of purple, and casually said:

‘Oh thanks Pop but I’m waiting for Archie so I’ll hold off on ordering anything until he gets here.’ It was a complete lie, the Andrews family had a full-on Christmas-like roast dinner every Sunday and never made it to the diner until much later in the day - if at all - perhaps for a couple of milkshakes or banana splits.

‘Well I ain’t gonna let you wait without a warm cuppa, kiddo. It is _glacial_ out there!’

Before Jughead could disagree, a steamy mug was sliding over to him, and he laced trembling fingers around it as if it was the last piece of gold available on the planet. He nodded his gratitude without making eye contact, far too embarrassed to face the nicest man in Riverdale, who clearly expected no payment.

Less than five minutes later, Pop Tate came back with a gigantic burger and a plate full of fries. He immediately pre-empted any sign of protest by saying:

‘Someone sent this back to the kitchen because apparently, the waitress took the wrong order down. Do me a favor will you, and help me clean this up?’

Jughead wasn’t stupid. When he had entered the premises, he’d seen a grand total of two customers already midway through their lunch, and no waitress on duty today… But unfortunately, he was also completely out of options. If he didn’t eat very soon, he would pass out on his way back to the trailer and most likely die in the snow just as he’d contemplated a few minutes before, this time entirely unintentionally.

He turned to Pop and offered a sincere thank you along with a weak smile, and as the old man walked away back to his station with a pinch in his heart, he thought to himself that Jughead Jones was the _saddest_ kid he’d ever seen in his forty years of service.

Jughead started to scoff a couple of burger bites but soon had to slow down. His stomach had started churning uncomfortably, reminding him that this _wasn’t_ the way it worked; you couldn’t leave it empty, cold and stressed for over 24 hours and then just expect for things to go perfectly smoothly. He paced himself as much as he could, concentrating on keeping his food down for the next couple of hours while going over the painful conversation that had brought him here in the first place.

Was he really going to end up like his father? Was he just delusional when he thought that his dedication at school would take him out to a better place? Should he just give up and surrender to the Serpents now? Because if he was doomed to get sucked into, then at least he wouldn’t have to suffer at the hands of the Ghoulies in the meantime.

And Betty… Could any of what his dad had said about her be true? That she was only helping Jughead because it was some sort of a good Samaritan undertaking designed to elevate herself? And that he wouldn’t be worth her time much longer once she realized she had better things to do and better people to see?

Jughead’s head started spinning a bit.

He knew Betty, he knew her _well_. She wasn’t shallow or greedy, and she’d get into a fantastic college without having to use his sinister tale of broken dreams. She was pure, wholesome and so full of potential.

But then again, as he had wondered a million times before… What could she possibly see in him? He was none of these things, and he would inevitably bring her down. It was already happening, if the previous day had been a lesson at all.

Without wanting to, Jughead let the seed of doubt grow in his mind and take hold of his soul. He wrapped his arms around himself and attempted to stop the shiver that had never quite left him, bouncing his feet nervously beneath the table.

Either way, whatever the situation may or may not be - on both his own future and his future with Betty - Jughead needed to get back out there and go home sooner than later. He couldn’t hide forever in the comfort of the soft vinyl seat and he’d have to make a move before the temperatures dropped too much as the day went by. Perhaps once at the trailer he could call someone for a quick chat? Not sure who to reach out to and what to say but it’d be nice to hear a familiar voice.

He went over to Pop to thank him one more time and left the dinner with a heavy heart.

\---

Upon entering the trailer, he found FP asleep in front of the TV. At least he hadn’t gone back out and Jughead could relax about him drinking a second day in a row.

He had to let it slide and try to be a bit more trusting anyway; his dad had made this much clear.

And he knew that FP wasn’t a bad person. He was a victim of his environment much as Jughead himself felt and hadn’t be so lucky to get out undamaged. Most of what had happened to his dad wasn’t his fault, just an unfortunate cycle of poverty. He looked at FP for a couple of minutes and went to pull a blanket over him.

As he passed through the kitchen quietly to reach his room, Jughead caught sight of the broken plate he’d thrown on his way out – one of the new ones, _damnit_ \- and which he had totally forgotten about. This sent a massive chill down his spine.

His dad was right, he was no better than his parents. He’d always promised that he would _never_ resort to violence, but this act alone proved that given the ‘right’ circumstances, he wasn’t as peaceful as he thought himself to be. He _had_ to do better, and _be_ better. He couldn’t pull the shit he’d pulled today, ever again.

With those contemplations in mind, Jughead felt the threat of anxiety hum back in his body and quickly went to lock himself in his room, laying on the bed to try and clear the dark thoughts away.

Less than ten minutes later he was brought back to reality when his phone vibrated on the bedside table. He’d completely forgotten about it and felt a hint of worry when he saw 3 missed calls and 8 texts from Archie:

  * 11:12am: _Dude, what the hell happened with Betty?_
  * 11:12am: _I saw her crying in her room all of yesterday and Veronica arrived this morning to the rescue… Now they’re acting like there’s been a death or something_
  * 12:26pm: _Oh OK… So I have to hear from my girlfriend that there was a disaster with FP again. What the hell did he do Jughead?_
  * 12:33pm: _He freaking wrecks everything around him… Why didn’t you take her side?!! Veronica only told me partial details but it sounds bad!_
  * 1:40pm: _…And apparently *you* were a major douche too?_
  * 3:05pm: _Are you ignoring me??_
  * 4:17pm: _Are you OK? I’m starting to get worried._
  * 4:22pm: _You just can’t make Betty cry over something stupid FP said or did._



_Yep,_ those best friend’s instincts had kicked right into gear… But for Betty this time, which seemed both understandable and forgivable.

Jughead pressed his eyes shut and groaned softly into his pillow. Not only he had his dad and girlfriend to deal with, but now he also had to explain himself to Archie in ways he knew he wouldn’t understand.

Jughead didn't have the energy for a conversation, and therefore he simply wrote a long message.

  * _Arch I’m sorry, I’m only seeing this now. I’ve been out all day without my phone. FP wasn’t rude to Betty, it was me and I apologized multiple times. It was an accident, I obviously didn’t mean to hurt her. She said she needed space so I’m trying to respect that. Please don’t tell me what is going on over there and what you think you’re seeing or not, because it’s already stressful enough as it is and I can’t do anything about it._



The answer came immediately:

  * _Sorry bud. You’re right, I shouldn’t meddle… It’s not really my business and I shouldn’t go off on you like that. I just don’t like seeing her so upset, it’s really hard when your 2 best friends are in a fight. You’ doing OK?_



Jughead wasn’t sure what to reply to that. _‘Not really’_ would have been the honest answer, but he could see that Archie was caught in between two fires and therefore it wouldn’t be fair to sway him his way.

  * _I’ll survive. Take care of her for me please._



It seemed to be the most acceptable answer to settle for. He stayed in his room all evening, even when he got hungry again, so that he wouldn’t have to risk another unpleasant discussion with FP.

It was high time that this weekend of hell finally finished.

\---

Unbeknown to Jughead, Archie and even Veronica, was the fact that the situation with the Blackhood had escalated _dramatically_ for Betty over the past few days.

Having conducted an extremely thorough investigation into his heartless crimes and being _a lot_ closer to the truth than the police themselves had managed, she was now directly exposed to the psychotic killer that still terrorized the Northside.

It appeared that along the process, he had taken a shining to her and had somehow refocused his mission to personally taunt her in order to provoke contact in the sickest of ways.

Indeed, going back a couple of weeks, she had been receiving text messages and phone calls in complete secrecy, manipulating her into doing appalling things that felt more and more personal, in order to avoid fatal repercussions on her loved ones. The murderer pretended that it was for her own growth, that it would teach her the importance of smart choices and self-accomplishment. And that this way, she could take charge of her own destiny and use her powerful judgment to really _become someone._

That Saturday morning, after returning from Sunnyside following the breakfast incident, she’d gotten a phone call from The Blackhood saying that Jughead was a _terrible_ boyfriend and that he was giving her exactly a week to break up with him. She’d answered that there was _no way in hell_ that she would ever agree to that, but her tormentor had calmly countered that if she didn’t take care of the problem herself, then _he_ would. For her own good.

This was what had provoked the floodgate of tears that Archie had witnessed; not a ‘little fight’ with Jughead which she’d already forgiven by the time she was pulling over in her parent’s driveway.

She had had _all_ afternoon to go over the threat, cry more, and totally freak out… Because no matter how she looked at it, she couldn’t take the risk of putting Jughead in harm’s way if that sick son of a bitch took it upon himself to ‘break them up’ in his violent interpretation of the term.

She felt so powerless and heartbroken. She loved Jughead more than anyone or anything; he was the _sweetest_ person there ever was and wouldn’t dream of stepping on a single fly. Even when they occasionally fought, she could see how hurt he would be by the simple act of causing _her_ any grief. He almost always apologized first. He always put her first altogether and treated her as if she was the most important person there was on this entire planet.

When thinking about it, she knew that the stress of the past few weeks had been the real reason that had caused the ‘scene’ back at the trailer park, but immediately upon arriving on Elm Street she had wanted to text Jughead that she was really sorry, that she understood the delicate position he was finding himself in and ask to meet at Pop’s to make up with him in person. Because he deserved to be treated with love and respect, more than anyone else she knew.

But now instead, she was just about to _destroy_ him entirely and walk away from his love.

She had no choice though, his safety was more important and she knew that the Blackhood wouldn’t hesitate to follow through on his sick _‘promises’._ She had bought herself a bit of thinking time by asking Jughead to stay away for a bit. As long as she wasn’t seeing him, maybe it wouldn’t be real?

She could feel his palpable distress in the responses he had rushed to give her - it was abundantly evident that the impact of her attitude was already brutally affecting him - and she hated herself for all the pain she was causing him.

After a sleepless night filled with tears, she had asked Veronica to come and keep her company. She couldn’t bear the idea of being alone all day, and had told her about their fight in order to explain her melancholy. There were sprinkles of truth in her story, after all.

And technically speaking, even if her mind wasn’t exactly all the way there yet, it was a good idea to seem so upset with Jughead if in 5 or 6 days she was going to have to make the breakup believable for the rest of the gang, who knew them to be far too in love to initiate such a terrible ending.

She’d even thought about some of the grittier details… She could tell everyone – including Jughead – that she couldn’t bear his move to the Southside and that it had broken something between them. That she felt as if he was being constantly pulled between his dad and her, and that since she couldn’t ask him to make a difficult choice, she would make it easy for him by removing herself from the equation.

She knew it would _kill_ him.

Jughead had received so little in his life; he’d been abandoned by his own mother, had almost no support system at all apart from the Andrews and the gang, and was never hugged by anyone except Archie and her. Not even by his own dad. The amount of love he was given was unbearably small and he was going to be _devastated_ in ways she couldn’t even imagine...

But at least it would be a metaphorical death, not an actual loss of life. And that’s what she needed to focus on right now.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The saga continues... and it doesn't get much better for poor Jug.

Archie could hardly believe what Betty had just asked him to do.

‘You have to trust me,’ she kept repeating with pleading eyes, ‘I’m doing it for his own good. It’s been too hard for him having to constantly play the referee between his old and new life. Think of how many times he’s literally dragged his feet to come hang out since he’s moved… And when he does he always looks like his mind is miles away and he doesn’t want to be with us.’

Archie couldn’t entirely disagree with that.

Sometimes Jughead would inexplicably refuse to meet for days at a time and always seemed to have endless excuses about why. Work, school, doing something with his dad… If at first Archie had thought that it was his own fault for not making the time since he was so busy at Lodge Industries, now more and more _Jughead_ was the one acting like he had better things to do. And sometimes – quite often actually - he looked really off, like it was a superhuman effort to chat. Archie had tried to address this a couple of times, but Jughead kept dismissing his comments with jokes.

So far, Archie had thought that it was just him thinking that, but now Betty clearly felt it too. To the point of breaking up.

‘Arch’, I really can't face it.’ She was in _floods_ of tears. ‘I still love him. But last weekend was a such disaster and with everything that has been going on; Polly, the twins, and…’ She stopped herself for a second ‘…and life in general, I just can’t deal with it anymore. Can you talk to him, _please_?’

‘You mean break up with Jughead for you?’

‘I wouldn’t ask if I could do it myself. You know it’s true.’

It sounded like such a betrayal. Archie felt a bit sick just thinking about it.

‘Are you sure Betty? You should try and talk to him, figure it out. He’s been different, that’s true, but it’s still Jughead.’

‘I am 100% certain. Never been more positive about anything in my life.’

Come to think of it, Archie couldn’t _ever_ break up with Veronica himself if he was in the same situation. He simply couldn’t bring himself to… So he understood that much. Sending a text would be awful too, it wasn’t Betty’s style at all. And in a way, perhaps it would be better if he was the one delivering the news to Jughead? He could at least try and soften the blow for his best friend, be there for him.

\---

When Thursday evening rolled around, Archie decided to just show up at the trailer. He knew that FP wasn’t there as he’d seen him at Pop’s, and just hoped to catch Jughead on his way back from school. He didn’t even text to announce himself because he didn’t want to get into a conversation about having to come for a conversation. It felt pointless and would alarm his friend immediately.

All lights were off when he arrived, so he sat on the wooden stairs leading to the entrance. He dearly wished that he could just turn back around and forget about this whole thing, but Betty had been _adamant_ that it needed to happen before the weekend, so he might as well rip that bandage now.

It was only twenty minutes or so before Jughead walked up to him, looking tired and stressed - a standard feature on him. He did however offer a genuine smile as he realized he had a visitor.

‘Arch’, man, I’m so happy to see you! Come in for a cup of coffee? I’ve just restocked the cupboards, there might even be some doughnuts left if we’re lucky.’

‘Betty wants to break up with you.’ This came out so abruptly that it shocked both of them. _Why did he have to word-vomit the information like that?_ Archie thought to himself. They weren’t even inside.

‘What?’ Jughead stopped in his tracks at the bottom of the stairs. He looked like he’d just been punched in the stomach.

‘I’m sorry Jug. I hardly understand it myself because she said that she still loves you. But she’s drowning in family responsibilities, and so are you. She’s just scared that you’ll come to absolutely hate each other if there are more _situations_ … Like the last one you had.’

Jughead suddenly felt like his insides were being ripped right out of him. He grabbed the handrail as a safety net, not feeling so steady on his feet.

‘Oh Arch’...’ was all he managed to mutter. The sound was extremely faint as it came out.

‘I know it feels a bit lame that I’m the one telling you this, but I actually think that it’s because she cares so much. She can’t face the heartbreak. She’s been crying every single day since last weekend.’

Jughead could hardly hear him anymore, he felt as though he was standing at the bottom of a lake and kept looking at the surface but wasn’t able to swim back up. His heartbeat was getting faster, and he could feel blood pump into his veins at an uncontrollable cadence.

‘Are you alright Jug?’

 _No he wasn’t._ They both knew it. This was the single most terrible thing that could happen to him, Archie wasn’t stupid. He wondered if he should hug his friend - his _brother_ \- who genuinely looked like he was about to hit the ground.

He got up and made a move to that effect but Jughead suddenly took a couple of steps back.

The hurt on his face was unbearable to look at. Archie froze for a second to see what his best friend would do. Was he going to accept a comforting embrace if he approached carefully? Or push him away…

‘I’m just the messenger Jug, but I genuinely care about you.’ He resumed with a very soft voice. ‘Tell me what you need right now, we can figure it out together.’

Jughead shook his head. He had taken another few steps back, and was now leaning against the trailer, hands on the wall to stabilize himself and eyes to the ground.

‘Why don’t we go inside and sit down for a bit?’ Archie offered, taking in his fragile state. ‘We could both use a nice hot drink.’

‘Please leave.’ Jughead finally answered. He could feel the panic rise in him and he needed to get rid of Archie before having another attack. It was coming for him, he knew he couldn’t stop it. ‘I want to be alone.’

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’

‘Because you thought it’d be a better one to come out here and do Betty’s dirty work?’

‘Jug, calm down! I’m only trying to help you right now.’

‘Then leave me the fuck alone. Both of you. _All_ of you actually.’

Maybe accepting this awful task had been a huge mistake. Jughead was naturally extremely upset and Archie was getting pulled right into the middle of the argument. He had to step out a bit or he might lose one - or both - of his friends.

‘Look, I can see you’re hurting and I understand Jug. I’m gonna leave you to it and check up on you later, OK?’

‘Don’t bother.’

Jughead really didn’t want to be saying these words. He could hardly recognize himself being so spiteful. He sounded like a wounded FP. But the anxiety was stripping away his usual nuances and getting the better of him.

‘Hey! Don’t take it out on me, it’s not fair.’ Archie argued.

Jughead just shrugged and pointed towards the exit of the trailer park. He desperately wanted Archie to stay, to hear his voice tell him he was going to be OK and possibly hold him while he broke down… But he _couldn’t_ let Archie see him have one of his godforsaken ‘fits’.

For one thing he wasn’t ready to show himself so vulnerable and weak. Not to his best friend who turned absolutely everything he touched into gold.

For another, Archie would totally _freak out_ \- as he used to when they were younger – and call his own dad immediately. Serious conversations would ensue as to why the fits had suddenly resurfaced, because Fred Andrews never really seemed to fully comprehend how a teenager could be under so much stress that it’d cause him to pass out regularly. Then he’d give a lecture to FP about their home life and absolutely _nothing_ good would come out of it.

Right now, Jughead’s breathing was getting very uneven and he wouldn’t be able to speak much longer without it becoming noticeable. It was a miracle that Archie hadn’t already picked up on his shuddering shoulders. Thank god for the poor lighting of the block.

They stared at each other for another ten long seconds and then Archie finally walked past him.

‘OK. I’m gonna give you a bit of time to cool off, Jug… But I’ll call you later, whether you want it or not.’ The redhead commented on his way out, not entirely convinced to let his best friend reject him in his moment of distress.

Minutes later Jughead was finally alone. He searched for his keys with shaky hands, already feeling that he was possibly running out of time to make it inside. It took all that he had in him to concentrate on the task, but luckily was able to get safely out of view.

Once he reached his room, he collapsed against the door without so much as taking his jacket or backpack off and let himself succumb to the spellbinding darkness.

\---

Unlike most of the times he had surrendered to anxiety, Jughead started dreaming. He fell into a nice, warm and inviting scenery bringing him back to when he was about 7 or 8 years old, and Archie, Betty and him were playing together in the garden on a summer day.

Fred had built them a treehouse that he’d insisted wasn’t solely for Archie, but for the three of them to share and play in together.

Being a real Cooper at heart, Betty had decided to host a tea party for the boys, for which she had drawn invitations herself. Archie had laughed at her in a goodhearted manner, but Jughead hadn’t. He had felt so honored and important when seeing _‘we cordially request the presence of Jughead Jones :)’_ that he kept the note to these days somewhere in his things.

Jughead had felt very strongly about bringing something because ‘ _you didn’t show up at a party empty-handed’._ Not that his own mother cared about that sort of thing, but he’d overheard Alice Cooper say that once when she and Al had come to the Andrews for dinner and he was around.

And he was often around, having little to no supervision from his own parents.

Therefore, Jughead had saved a piece of cake that had been distributed in class a couple of days before for somebody’s birthday and that he’d carefully wrapped in paper towels like a forbidden treasure. It had been really hard to keep it, especially because he had felt so hungry the night before and wished he could have used this as a dinner – having been sent to his room without one -, but he was far too excited and concerned about being a polite guest to consider eating it on his own.

When he’d handed it over to the party hostess the next day, Archie had been his normal self; meaning he had applied very little filters to the situation.

‘Eww, Juuug. That thing is from _Thursday_! It’s going to be all stale and gross, why do you even do things like that?’ He’d scolded while running back to the house to see what other –fresher and nicer – items he could find there. Because his was the kind of household where you could find things readily available and help yourself as you wished. No questions asked. _No backhand slap or punishment involved._

But while their redheaded friend was gone, Betty had insisted shyly that Jughead’s cake – or rather Dilton Doiley’s - was what she wanted to eat, because it was ‘so thoughtful to have saved it all this time and she preferred it anyway’. Even though she had no idea what else was on offer.

This had provoked a unique sense of pride in the little boy. Betty was sensitive to his gestures, even then. And he knew that it wasn’t just politeness or pity because she had that look on her face that lit up the room and made him feel so normal and included.

Jughead basked in the sun of that memory as if it was yesterday, almost being able to taste Betty’s precious imaginary tea… He wished he could have stayed there forever. Extend time and relive it over and over again.

But then something started to feel off. The images started to fade, the warmth of that summer day turned cold and the recollection slowly mixed up with another one.

Jughead was standing at the edge of the treehouse. Kids were screaming at him to ‘jump, Jughead, jump!’ He felt very uncomfortable about it because he didn’t know how to swim. He’d lied on the school consent form that he’d signed instead of his mother, to make sure that he could join his friends on the trip to the local pool.

Oh wait, that’s where he was; not the treehouse anymore, but the Riverdale Public Pool. He was about 11.

This whole day had become a real nightmare because all the children were taking turns diving from the high board and his was coming up. He had hesitated all the way to the top of the ladder. Not only he didn’t like to have all the attention on his scrawny body and borrowed swimsuit, but he could also feel fear creeping up in his throat. Both Archie and Betty had told him that he really didn’t have to do this, and were looking at him from a distance with big round eyes, sensing his discomfort from a mile away.

But at 11 years old, Jughead felt a compulsive need to give in. He wanted to try and prove his worth, and silence all the mockeries of an already arrogant Reggie Mantle.

In theory, it could have worked.

Except that his hesitation had _really_ come to bite him in the ass. Or in the chin, as it turned out. He wasn’t close enough to the edge – no one in the line had cared to answer when he’d hurriedly asked for tips. He hadn’t applied enough weight to create a real bounce, so instead of springing from the diving board, he’d slid right into it, before falling to the side. It had made everyone burst into uncontrollable giggles, right until they’d seen prickles of red tainting the usually clear turquoise.

Jughead had panicked underwater, and both Archie and Betty had immediately jumped to the rescue. The whole thing was so embarrassing that years later people still brought it up as a joke.

But the biggest humiliation and ache of that day had come afterward, when a furious Gladys had shown up, yelling at her son in front of the kids on their way out - who were definitely _all_ still there. Jughead was sitting on a bench upfront, pressing the pack of ice that the lifeguard had kindly given him for his cut, and his mom had barked that he was _lucky_ he was already bleeding, otherwise she would have seen to it herself. You didn’t forge Gladys Jones’ signature without serious consequences.

As per usual, there was no money to even think about going to Riverdale General Hospital, so she’d taken Jughead to the Whyte Wyrm where a guy with experience ‘in all kinds of wounds’ gave him 4 stitches. Gladys had _refused_ that her son be allowed any mild anesthetic for the pain while he was being sawn up, to teach him a valuable lesson about trust and respect that he’d ‘undoubtedly remember for a lifetime’.

It had been clear that even FP had felt really uneasy about this attitude when he found out, as he let a queasy Jughead rest on his chest all evening and kept a hand protectively cupped on his face as if to defend him after the fact.

When Jellybean had come home after school, she had wept for a solid hour, not liking nor understanding why her brother looked so out of sorts. Gladys had turned to him once his baby sister had gone to bed and spat out in his face _‘this is all your fault; you always ruin everything!’_

An argument between adults had followed, and the exact same sentence was thrown at him by his mother - yet again - as the conclusion of it. And he had believed her. Because the whole incident was _his_ doing after all, and he shouldn’t have wanted to do what other kids did in the first place.

Come to think of it, this was the defining moment that had made him stop trying to fit in so hard. It simply never worked, no matter how willing he was to look the part, or be liked by others.

\---

Jughead wrestled similar memories for several hours. They all seemed to start with extremely comforting images, but almost inevitably turned dark and oppressing after a few minutes, leaving him lost and distraught, hopelessly wanting to wake up and get away from it all.

He felt his lungs burning and a pain crushing his upper body. Was it possible that he was having yet another panic attack in his sleep? Anything could happen these days, and the overwhelming suffering that came with losing Betty was _nothing_ he’d felt before, so it was bound to make him react in bizarre ways.

As his half-conscious mind realized the physical nature of his discomfort though, he came to very slowly and took in his surroundings. He wasn’t in the trailer anymore, but in the disused classroom of Southside High where he’d ‘encountered’ the Ghoulies the first time.

It had to be another nightmare, right? How could he have possibly gotten there?

He carefully extended a hand forward to touch a desk and check its material existence. It was _real_. He _was_ in school. Looking outside, it appeared to be night-time.

Suddenly the events of the day came back to him, rushing in aggressive flashes.

He’d woken up in his bedroom in such a state of despair. His heart was throbbing with grief over his breakup with Betty, and he was taken by an intense sense of disgust for himself that he couldn’t shake. A succession of violent thoughts had put his mind in overdrive.

He’d failed so miserably. He’d failed her, he’d _hurt_ her. She’d been crying all week, had said Archie. He was a monster for doing that. How could he even look at himself in the mirror? Now he was all alone and it was his fault.

He wanted to _die._

As the sun rose that Friday morning, he’d gotten ready and left for school like any other day. He didn’t bother packing a lunch, as he had a much better plan in mind which would settle his feelings of revulsion.

When the bell indicated the mid-day break, he walked up casually to the quiet classroom and just waited. He _wanted_ to suffer, he wanted to feel every single bit of the beating he knew was coming for him.

He _deserved_ to be kicked and tortured until he bled to death.

And sure enough, the Ghoulies took the bait.

If the kid was stupid enough to offer himself as sacrificial lamb – for whatever goddam reason – why pass up a good work out? Jones was almost smiling when they entered the room, which made Kurtz slightly suspicious about a potential ambush, but not enough to stop the sick pleasure that inevitably always won.

It was a quick one though. That moron hadn’t even defended himself and had passed out so quickly that it took all the fun out of it. The whole point was to see him beg for mercy, but there was none of that today. So they’d made it a blitz operation.

Somewhere in there one of the guys said he’d heard a bone crack under the weight of his combat boot. That was enough satisfaction for a day. And they always made it a point to only go _so far_ ; simply because the more they broke him, the longer it would take until they could do it again… You don’t kick a puppy while it’s already down, you wait for it to come barking and pulling at your shoe instead.

They’d safely closed the door on their way out, leaving Jughead on the floor for several hours until he woke up in utter confusion. He wondered furtively if he should just stay there until the next morning, and sleep at school ‘just like the good old days’. But he was cold and sore, and his limbs were screaming at him with a general ache that was nauseating.

As he tried to sit up, he realized that he couldn’t move his left arm and let out a small cry through his tight lips. If he’d suspected about broken bones before, this time there was absolutely zero doubt.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he tried to locate the exact source of the break. It seemed to be near the front of his neck, on his left collar bone. He ran trembling fingers on it and held his breath for a few seconds. It kept throbbing in intense pulses, sending waves of pain throughout his entire body.

He was such an idiot. He had _wanted_ the punches because in the moment they felt like an instant relief from his torment. It had worked for about five minutes, when he’d lost himself in the abuse and welcomed the kicks as penance for his crimes.

But now he had to deal with the aftermath… How on earth was he going to do his job at the warehouse? Or what would he say to his dad? This wouldn’t go unnoticed, even by an absent-minded FP. 

He sighed heavily and bit his tongue as he gathered his things, arm tightly folded against his chest. A quick inspection of his phone told him that it was nearly 7pm and high time to sneak out of the now dormant building.

Coming up with a story preoccupied his mind all the way back to Sunnyside. At least it was something else than thinking about his _ex-girlfriend._

\---

He didn’t end up seeing FP until the next day. 

Upon arriving at the trailer, he’d managed to heat up a can of beans, shower and get into clean clothes – all of that with just the one moving arm. He could have screamed throughout every step of the process but was left in a marginally more comfortable position.

Physically speaking at least. Emotionally, he was still a complete wreck. He felt empty and worthless. Broken and unloved.

He tried to get his laptop out to do a bit of writing, but realized that even that was excruciating. He was wiped out by the events of the week anyway, and decided to scan through his messages instead.

Archie had left several voicemails which he didn’t feel like listening to, Kevin had sent a couple of sad faces with the words ‘thinking of you, man’, and Veronica had sent a long text. He sat up with a bit more interest when he saw that. She was Betty’s best girl-friend after all, so maybe she had more insight into how she was doing?

  * _Hey Jughead, I know we don’t usually speak that much but I just wanted to tell you that I’m genuinely sorry about you and B. It always saddens me when great love stories have to end, especially for good people. My hands are a bit tied given that she’s my bestie, but if there is anything I can do for you, please know that I’m here. I’m always happy to pick up the phone and chat if you need. Xo. V._



That was nice. Really nice actually. Jughead obviously _wasn’t_ going to chat with her, for a million different reasons, but the fact that she had reached out made him respect her tremendously. She was a valuable friend, and even if she couldn’t really be _his_ , it made him feel better that she was there to support Betty.

\---

When his son didn’t get up on Saturday morning, a few hours past his usual time, FP went to knock on his door. He thought that the most likely explanation was that he was at work, and was almost surprised to hear a faint sound telling him to come in.

Jughead was looking poorly again and was prompted against three pillows, all bundled up in a thick hoodie with an arm stuck across his chest.

‘Hey champ, what happened to you? You don’t look so hot.’ FP asked as he approached.

‘I had a small accident in PE class, fell off a rope. Nothing too serious but it hurts like hell.’

That was the best Jughead had come up with. It could have been weird if he’d ever used this excuse before, but he hadn’t so was perfectly believable.

‘Hmm. Maybe we should get you checked out.’

‘No need dad, my teacher already did a quick assessment. And I don’t want to blow our money on a useless scan… It’s not like they can put a cast on it anyway, so it’ll have to heal on its own. That’s what Mr Porter said.’

It was a good lie. And if you backed up your science with someone else’s seal of authority, it always sounded stronger.

‘Can I take a look at it?’ FP sat on the edge of the bed, eyeing his son with concern. Jughead pulled the hoodie slightly down from his neck to show the purple collar bone.

‘You might have to take this thing off.’ FP suggested, coming closer.

‘I’d really rather not, please. It was pretty atrocious to get dressed in the first place.’ Jughead didn’t want his dad to see the rest of his body. Because if only one bone was fractured for sure, the rest looked just as bad.

FP examined the uncovered piece of flesh with a frown, as he considered what to do. His boy was so fragile. Always had been. Sometimes he wondered how he was even related to him and Gladys. But he was also so incredibly tough, merely asking for attention even though he was clearly in agony.

‘I’ll get you some painkillers,’ FP finally said, ‘and I’ll find a sling too. I know I have one somewhere from an old bike injury. We should at least try and keep it all in place, it’ll heal faster.’

He ruffled his son’s hair carefully and promised to come back shortly with some food.

As Jughead was left alone, relieved that his cover story had been taken at face value, he couldn’t help but feel a pinch in his heart.

 _This_ was the FP he was fighting for. The same father who had shown compassion when he’d split his chin open, and who was ready to take care of him selflessly when he needed it.

How could this be the same person as the one who had cruelly provoked and diminished him just the week before? It didn’t make any sense. And it made it so damn hard to know what to do about anything.

If FP had been a complete monster, in a way it would have rendered some choices so much easier, because then it would have been understandable and almost normal to walk away. But he _wasn’t._ There was a part of him that was loving and kind, and that was trying to wrestle to the surface and outlive its darker companion.

Jughead could _never_ abandon him, he wouldn’t be able to. Because he was all that FP really had left, and without his son he would stand no chance of making the good part of himself win.


	10. Chapter 10

Jughead remained more or less in the same position for several days – both physically and metaphorically - as the beating and fracture had taken a lot out of him.

It would have been fair to say that he’d had it nearly as bad on several occasions before, and had always made it to school. However, the problem this time around was that he had simply lost _all_ willpower to exist. He felt void, empty of any motivation, and emotionally astray. He didn’t so much as pick up a book or look at his phone anymore, because he simply dreaded any action that might involve thinking.

Indeed, whenever he concentrated on any contemplation - however small - it seemed to inevitably bring back to Betty somehow, and cause an unbearable set of aches in his heart that he had absolutely _no idea_ how to deal with.

So instead he’d chosen to shut everything down, step out of his usual mind frame and virtually lock himself outside of his own normal being.

It did _sort of_ scare him though; the very fact that he had found this place of nothingness somewhere deep in his soul where he could hide forever and cease to feel anything. To _be_ anything.

He was almost glad that his many bruises reminded him he was even alive, when occasionally he’d get up to use the bathroom or shower.

On Monday morning, a cooperative FP had called Southside High to inform them that his son would be missing this week ‘due to the incident in gym class’ that absolutely _no one_ questioned. It was a complete wonder how this school was even still up and running. This would have never happened at Riverdale High… Not in a million years. Perhaps Principal Weatherbee hadn’t found it in him to research a loophole for his best student to stay, but he ran a tight ship nonetheless and wouldn’t have _ever_ allowed any cock and bull story like this to slip through the cracks.

FP had been an exemplary dad these last few days and made sure that his son was topped up on painkillers at a reasonable pace, ate at least two meals a day – although his current intakes were less than bird-sized – and kept his arm securely in place in the sling that he’d borrowed from someone at the Whyte Wyrm.

Whenever he’d come into the room, Jughead seemed to be sleeping, which he didn’t find suspicious because his son had always been very slow at recovering from all kinds of illnesses as a child.

FP was, however, a little relieved when he opened the front door to Archie Andrews on Wednesday evening, somehow comforted to see that his boy was going to get a bit of company while he left the house.

Archie had received a grand total of 4 short text messages back from Jughead since the breakup, and was more than just a little worried when he’d heard about the accident - _5 whole days after the fact_. He’d carefully kept the information to himself - not wanting to upset Betty more than she already was - but decided to go and check the situation, with a bag of Pop’s in hand which he knew Jughead would never turn down.

Upon entering the room – rather surprised that Jughead wasn’t up - Archie made a couple of jokes about Sleeping Beauty and having no hesitation to kiss his best friend to bring him back to life if need be. This earned him a weak smile and chuckle, but no sarcastic comeback. Hmm.

It was clear that Jughead had been knocked down pretty badly, although Archie couldn’t pinpoint if it was from the fracture or the Betty situation. In all honesty, it was very likely that both of these factors had contributed to his current state… Admittedly it would be a lot for just about anyone.

Jughead was doing his best effort to appear normal, showing interest in what the gang was up to and asking news about Mr and Mrs Andrews. And Vegas. Even football practice.

Archie happily answered all questions and made conversation for both, which was more or less the dynamics that had established themselves between the two of them in the last few weeks. Scratch that; _months._

In all truthfulness, it seemed easier than insist on asking why Jughead was acting so aloof and avoidant, and whether it had anything to do with Archie himself.

Because he was too scared that the answer would be _yes_.

There was unfortunately so much to support this theory; even outside of the breakup ordeal, there had already been a massive divide between them the previous summer. Although Jughead had _sworn_ that they were truly over it once they’d started speaking again, Archie wasn’t convinced that it was the entire truth.

He knew that Jughead didn’t deliberately hold a grudge against him – that kid was downright incapable of any malicious intent, as many years and experiences had shown – but perhaps without meaning to, he’d subconsciously stopped trusting his best friend to some extent. He’d been abandoned and let down more than anyone else they knew, and it was very possible that he was just protecting himself by only letting Archie back in _so much_. Archie couldn’t be upset with him for that, it seemed almost natural to withhold a little bit of trust, and if the roles had been reversed then he might have done the same thing.

Also, the fact that Jughead was now away from Riverdale High – and more specifically away from all his friends - didn’t help in the least. He’d always felt on the outskirts of their friendship group, like the annoying cousin you have to include but feel a bit ashamed about. No matter how many times Betty and Archie told him that it really wasn’t the case, they’d never managed to make him realize how much he _was_ and _deserved_ to be part of them. Jughead had always had a very broken notion of his worth, courtesy of a tricky Gladys Jones. That’s what Archie’s mom always said anyway.

Now, with a physical separation, and the fact that Archie was pretty much the only member of the gang to truly have access to Jughead, it was getting more and more difficult to persuade him that he belonged. It was essentially a losing battle.

In all of these uncertainties however, the one essential thing Archie had also come to check and had ‘happily’ witnessed as being positive, was the progress Jughead was making with FP. From the few minutes of interaction Archie had observed, things seemed to be… ‘perfectly fine’.

FP had appeared to be present, willing to help and to ‘parent’ which was a whole new game Archie had _never_ seen before. He’d even come into the bedroom for a chat with the boys and thanked Archie earnestly for his company before heading out.

Therefore, when he left the trailer park, Archie had very mixed feelings about what he’d seen that evening.

On one hand, he could feel Jughead slipping through his fingers and distancing himself in a way that made him very sad, but on the other hand, he could understand that his friend’s relationship with his dad was more important and required all of his attention.

Archie himself could _never_ turn his back on his own dad, so he understood some of the choices his best friend was facing. Maybe succeeding in keeping what was left of his very small family meant for Jughead that some friendships were the price to pay.

But why should it have to be this way though?

As he tossed and turned in bed that evening, staring at the spot where Jughead’s air mattress used to be, Archie couldn’t help but mull over some of the subtler details he’d observed. The way Jughead looked, for example, had struck him as being unusual; so drawn and almost sickly. Both extremely young and really old at the same time. Something in his eyes was different too, like vacant or ‘checked out’. And if all of this wasn’t enough, he hadn’t actually touched his burger, which was probably the first time _ever_ that he had pushed away some Pop’s. Perhaps that was the most shocking thing of all.

Heartbreak would do that to a soft spirit like Jughead’s though, Archie thought as he finally closed his eyes.

The next morning, he wanted to ask his dad for some advice. If anyone outside of the Riverdale High gang knew Jughead particularly well, it was him. He’d know what to do, or at least offer some insight as to how they should approach things, should some aspect of the story sound alarming.

Unfortunately, Fred was already gone by the time Archie walked downstairs for breakfast, and they never managed to have that conversation.

\---

By lunchtime, Veronica could tell that something was wrong with her boyfriend. He’d been quiet all morning and had hardly participated in the conversation when Kevin had suggested several options for the upcoming school play, which would have usually ignited lots of silly comments about it ‘never offering enough airtime for guitar solos’.

Before they parted for their respective classes, she managed to steal him away and have a much-needed chat by his locker about what could possibly be torturing him. She had a nagging feeling that she already knew.

‘It’s Jughead.’ He admitted, confirming her hunch. ‘This breakup has been _really_ hard on him, and he somehow managed to fracture his collar bone last Friday as well. I went to see him and something felt really off. Again.’

Veronica frowned slightly when hearing this. Jughead had texted her back over the weekend and his response was neutrally sweet and caring, exactly as she knew him to be – once you managed to get past his usual smokescreen of sarcasm. But now, upon listening to Archie’s concern, she was realizing that every single word had been about Betty. That he hoped she was doing OK and was glad that she had Veronica to look after her, and so on and so forth. He’d never mentioned how _he_ was feeling, and absolutely nothing to do with an accident.

This boy was _extremely_ good at being elusive.

Which is exactly what she tried to tell Archie to make him feel better about it, and added that if he still felt like he needed an adult perspective on the matter, her father would probably be a great person to confide into. 

Hiram Lodge was a mastermind in business and all other sorts of dealings, which meant between the lines that he was great at reading people and situations. Archie knew this to be true; he’d already observed this on many occasions.

So without a second thought, he opened up to his mentor after school and asked him what _he_ would do.

He had purposely left some of the grimmer details out – that FP was a recovering alcoholic who could hardly be trusted for example, which couldn’t be a complete secret for Hiram since they’d encountered one another in the past – and that Jughead was a particularly sensitive being with a tendency to withdraw, because it was hard to paint a full picture of him with just a couple of arbitrary details.

However, he asked in a more general manner what Hiram would do he felt that a close friend was conflicted over matters of the past and the future, and how far to go in trying to retrieve that person, if an ‘intervention’- or lots of small ones - felt unfruitful or unrequited.

‘Sounds complicated, if you ask me.’ Hiram replied after considering the question. ‘What I can say for sure is that you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. And you cannot let them drag you down in the process.’

Archie didn’t seem convinced. Of course, he hadn’t quite explained that the individual in question was his _soul brother,_ who may not know how to ask for help - even if he needed it.

But what Hiram said next somewhat managed to resonate with Archie.

‘Life is hard enough you know, you have to fend for yourself every step of the way. People make choices, and so far in your short life you haven’t faced a huge amount of those. But you’ll soon find out that now is about the time when destinies truly split. You’ll have to decide where yours is going and who your _ultimate_ partner is going to be. I was in a similar situation at your age, and chose Hermione as my ‘forever’. And what can I say… Look at me now, I’m the happiest man in Riverdale. I have it all.’

That provoked a small laugh from Archie. He couldn’t disagree, and sort of hoped that he’d be equally lucky with Veronica… But the smile quickly faded. Did that mean that he had to ‘drop’ Jughead on the way?

Was _he_ , Archie, the one who was conflicted between the past they’d both had together as children, and his future with someone else… With Veronica?

Hiram somehow managed to catch his turmoil and concluded with nuanced words.

‘Why don’t you give it some time? It sounds to me like you’ve already done quite a lot for this person and if it were me, I’d simply wait to see what comes back. You can only invest _so much_ in people, and if you don’t get an organic return, then you can take it as a sign that they are not as interested as you originally thought they were.’

It hurt to think that this could ever be the case. Archie didn’t want to believe it. But giving it some time was something he did feel capable of, and seemed the best approach in an otherwise inextricable situation.

\---

A couple of days after Archie’s visit, Jughead somehow managed to find a little bit of his mojo back. It was marginal, like a 10% battery life left in his system, but enough to push him out of bed and off to school.

He wasn’t quite ready to ‘repossess’ himself and let his mind move back into its usual state, but he found that by filling it with _lots_ of studying he could keep some of the darkness away. So he did just that. Luckily he could still write with his uninjured arm, so it made it possible to be satisfyingly productive.

He knew from experience that he’d be left alone by his attackers for a little while, which felt like a very welcome time out. He’d also called the warehouse to explain that he wouldn’t be able to come in for some time, fully knowing that he wasn’t at risk of losing his position any day soon... No one wanted the awful schedule he’d usually commit to, and they always seemed to be short on staff anyway, because it was a thankless and tiring job to shift things around for the _bare minimum_ wage.

Therefore, Jughead settled in this ‘transitional space’, which wasn’t anything like happiness by any stretch of imagination – the concept itself seemed so foreign – but thankfully wasn’t the complete black hole he’d let himself get sucked into either.

It was manageable.

What seemed to be less so however, was the fact that none his clothes really fit him anymore. After nearly a week in pajamas, it appeared that all his jeans had somehow stretched, and hung on him awkwardly with far too much extra room for it to look deliberate. After simply denying to himself for awhile that it probably _wasn’t_ a simple fabric problem – not on literally all of his pants - he finally got the courage to check, half-closing his eyes when the number came up.

117.

 _Yeah well, that was to be expected_ , Jughead sighed. He really hadn’t felt in the mood to eat lately with everything wounding his stomach so tight. He knew that his dad had noticed this because he kept trying to push food on him.

The Riverdale school nurse wouldn’t be too impressed with him either, he ironized briefly.

He needed to make an effort though, because it was starting to show that he was getting thinner. He’d seen Toni shoot a few weird glances at him in class. He couldn’t be sure if it was because of this or because of the very obvious sling, but she’d given him a serious up and down examination for about ten seconds that he’d just pretended to ignore.

In any case, Jughead was pretty sure that the weight loss was responsible for him being cold _all the time_ these days and feeling a bit dizzy when he got up too fast. He brushed his ribs with his able hand, feeling each one sticking out unnaturally. He’d completely failed to notice that before, usually too busy checking out his thorax for new bruises. Dangling from sharp shoulder bones, his arms seemed to be getting quite a bit smaller too. None of this would do anything to help fight the Ghoulies off, he realized.

Jughead added ‘appropriate diet’ to his mental list of things to figure out somehow, right after ‘going to thrift store to find new jeans that fit’.

\---

As it turned out, Jughead’s reprieve was very short-lived. About two weeks in total.

On a regular Tuesday afternoon, as he was studying in the Southside High library, he received an unexpected text from Kevin that set all his alarm bells off immediately.

  * _Hey Jug, how are you doing after last night? I only know because I overheard my dad talking on the phone but my lips are sealed, I promise. I’m sure Pop doesn’t blame you at all for what your dad did._



Jughead immediately felt his heart drop. What did Kevin mean by ‘what your dad did’?

FP had been so good lately. Yes, he’d gone on a few nights out that hadn’t seemed entirely kosher, but he’d managed to make it back home without too much disturbance. Jughead wouldn’t deny that there had been some alcohol again – all the usual signs were there - but FP had appeared to be more in control of his consumption and behavior this time around. 

This, however, sounded very ominous.

  * _What do you mean Kev, what happened?_



He wished that he had the information beforehand because this made him look like a complete idiot, but now was not the time to beat around the bush. And he was close enough to Kevin to let on that he was unaware of the situation.

  * _Oh I’m sorry man, I figured you knew. There was a robbery at Pop’s and apparently some Serpents were involved. My dad thinks FP was in on it._



Oh dear god. No. Please no.

  * _My dad is not a thief Kev! He’s got other issues but he wouldn’t do that._



He held his breath all the way through the three dots to the next message.

  * _I’m not saying I believe it Jug. But FP hasn’t been at work for a week from what Pop said, that’s why it seems more than just a little bit coincidental… Hang in there buddy, I’m on your side._



Jughead was at a complete loss. FP had been skipping his shifts for 7 days and he hadn’t noticed? This was so bizarre and so… possible at the same time. Jughead had been entirely lost in his own world lately, trying to sort himself out and move on, to an extent which meant that he had completely forgotten to worry about his dad.

But it didn’t seem fair though. FP was finally acting like a dad, so why was Jughead finding out now that he _wasn’t_ actually embracing the responsibilities that came with it?

The teenager breathed his way through the rest of the day. He _wasn’t_ going to believe anything he heard – even from Kevin who was usually a reliable source – until he’d spoken with FP himself. Maybe there was a perfectly good explanation. A misunderstanding. They could figure it out together and go to Pop’s to clear it all out. 

_Pop’s…_ Jughead’s favorite place on earth, his safe haven. It made him sick to think that his dad could have been involved in anything shady against the man who had fed him when he was most in need; and provided FP with a job when no one else believed him worthy of employment.

It was possibly one of Jughead’s worst nightmares.

But then again, if anything had indeed happened - which was still very unclear at this point - he _needed_ to hear it directly from his dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand more bad news for poor Jughead... who literally cannot catch a break!!  
> Thanks for reading, hopefully I'll be back this weekend with a bit more :)


	11. Chapter 11

The conversation didn’t go well. Actually, far worse than just ‘not well’… More like _horribly wrong._

First off, Jughead had waited up until roughly 2:45am for his dad to come home. He wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, so it was pointless to try. Still, he was exhausted and on edge, feeling himself running out of patience regarding absolutely all matters.

Then FP had shown up drunk, on obviously more than just a couple of beers. It was unclear where his bike was, as Jughead hadn’t heard any engine come up to the trailer.

At least it was _something_ , a small win; FP had not driven under the influence. He struggled with his keys for a couple of minutes and just ended up banging on the door, probably realizing that his son was awake, given the lights in the kitchen and living room.

‘Heyy boy! Why the long face?’ FP immediately stated as he headed for the couch. ‘No need to be so morose you know, or just go to bed if you’re in a bad mood. What are you still doing up anyway?’

‘I wanted to have chat with you.’ Jughead said in a sigh, cutting to the chase.

‘About what; the weather?’ His tone was purposely dismissive. He may have been liquored up, but he still knew _exactly_ where this was going. ‘Can’t it wait tomorrow?’

‘No dad, it's about your job... What happened? Apparently, you’ve stopped going. _Why?_ ’ Jughead could hear the disappointment ring in his own voice. He didn’t mean to let on that he so annoyed and worried but it was too hard not to.

‘Argh that old thing! It was getting on my nerves too much. I’m used to giving orders, not taking them.’ He chuckled at his own pun. ‘And the hours weren’t working out for me, I’m too old for this shit.’

‘But dad, it was _crucial_ for us. The steady paychecks and the…’

‘Nah don’t worry about that, I’ve got it handled. Money’s not going to be a problem.’

‘And how will you get it? Is it going to be legal?’ He sounded like a scornful wife. ‘Dad, we really can’t afford for you to be mixed up in Serpents stuff again, it’s too dangerous.’

‘I’ve got it _under control_ Jughead. It’s none of your business how I decide to manage.’ FP’s tone had gone two levels up.

‘Actually _it is_ , because you’re still on probation over your involvement in Jason Blossom’s murder cover-up, in case you’ve forgotten! And if anyone finds out about your ‘side projects’ and you get arrested, then _I’ll_ have to go into foster care. So I’m sorry if it bothers you that I’m concerned but it’s my life too, dad!’

Jughead was shouting now, and being way more emotional than he really wished to show. A drunk FP would certainly play on that and mock him about it in just a minute. But it was all too important to back down... And he wasn’t disturbed about his situation alone; he also couldn’t bear the idea of FP self-sabotaging himself and throw his life away, _yet again_.

‘No one is going to find out that I went back, boy, the Serpents don’t rat. And if word gets out then I’ll know exactly where it came from.’

 _What?_ FP thought that his own son would tell on him to the authorities?

‘Dad, you’re not being fair. I would _never_. And there are a thousand ways that Sheriff Keller could hear about this. You’re totally off the point anyway, you _shouldn’t_ be doing shady stuff. Full stop.’

‘Oh and who are you to say what I should and shouldn’t do? It is _my_ life and lead it however _I_ choose. You know nothing, boy!’

FP got up and started pacing. He had tensed considerably, and seemed to garner a feeling of indignation over the fact that his son thought he was entitled to butt into his affairs.

‘Dad, is it true what people say about Pop’s?’ Jughead asked in a small voice. He was near tears now. All of his doubts had been confirmed so far… So forget trying not to get affected, this was hitting way too close to home.

‘And _what_ do people say exactly?’ FP came dangerously close.

‘That the Serpents robbed it.’

‘What is it to you?’ He narrowed his eyes with the clear intent of making himself look threatening. To his own son. And it was working. Drunk FP was mean _and_ scary.

‘So you’re not denying it then?’ Jughead bit back his fear. He needed to get to the bottom of this tonight. Tomorrow morning FP would be sleeping his hangover off – he most definitely wouldn’t dare to wake him up then - and after school he’d be out again. That was the cycle they were facing from now on.

‘They are _my_ Serpents, so anything they do has my name on it.’

‘Why dad?’ Jughead cried in disbelief. ‘Pop was rooting for you. He gave you a job _right out of prison_.’

‘I didn’t know it was going to happen, I would have obviously not condoned it. We’re not ruthless criminals you know, these were just a couple of clueless kids and I gave them hell for it!’ FP felt like he was justifying himself and he _hated_ it.

‘But you didn’t do anything to stop them either… Try and put some order in your ranks or something! Tell them the diner was off bounds because you’d just literally been offered a second chance there.’ Jughead was extraordinarily upset. He was now following his dad in his footsteps to try and get him to come face to face.

On his side, FP was getting more and more agitated. He was tired and had a headache – the aftereffects of his many whiskies starting to kick in – and simply couldn’t bear his son shadowing him like a little lap dog.

‘You’ve got to go to Sheriff Keller, you’ve got to come clean! If you were not directly involved he’ll leave you alone, I’m sure of it.’ He sounded positively desperate now.

‘ _No_ Jughead, I’m not going to.’

‘ _Please_ dad, there’s still time to do the right thing.’

FP could feel the anger starting to bubble in him. He’d already given those kids a cold shower about what had happened, so he’d done his part. It really wasn’t that simple anyway, and he didn’t have the patience to deal with all these cheap judgments from his own misguided offspring.

And then Jughead made a fatal mistake.

He attempted to approach his dad from behind, in hopes to make him turn around and look at him in the eyes.

In his state of inebriation, FP misjudged the distance between them and let his instincts take over when he felt a hand brush his arm. He threw himself backward with too much energy and in a movement of panic swiveled and pushed a startled Jughead against the sharp edge of the kitchen counter. Right into his left shoulder.

Jughead bounced awkwardly on it and fell to the ground with a scream, having felt a distinctive rupture violently spread through his already fragile collar bone.

He nearly passed out with the pain. And the perplexity. He had _not_ seen this coming. Five seconds of utter surprise passed, and FP finally knelt down next to him with a horrified expression on his face.

‘Jug! I’m _sorry_ , I didn’t mean it.’

Jughead couldn’t put words together and formulate an answer for the better part of the next three minutes.

‘Boy, I am _so_ sorry! It was an accident, I swear. I’m a complete idiot!’

FP’s voice seemed to be echoing from extremely far away. Jughead had shut his eyes tight, but was seeing white flickers and spots dance all over the inside of his head nonetheless. He held his breath to try and stop the manic throbbing that blasted all the way through his ears in loud thumps.

‘Talk to me champ, tell me you’re OK.’ FP was now getting positively frantic. He’d snapped out right out of his anger and sounded even more distressed than his own son. He tried to lift him onto his feet but Jughead let out a shriek and fell right back down on all fours. Well, threes. It was absolute torture, _all over again_.

If he’d been able to look up, he would have seen genuine tears of guilt rolling on his father’s cheeks.

The teenager finally took a shaky breath and whispered;

‘I’m fine, dad. I promise.’

‘No you’re not, not even close.’ FP conceded. ‘I never intended to hurt you like this. _Please_ forgive me. I love you buddy, I really do.’ He had carefully wrapped a hesitant arm around Jughead’s waist, and rested his forehead lightly against his lower back.

‘I love you too, dad.’ He answered in a wavering tone. _‘Of course_ I forgive you.’

And Jughead’s big heart sincerely did right there and then. There was no doubt in his mind that FP was indeed very sorry. And that he hadn’t actually meant to harm him.

They remained still for about ten minutes, until Jughead gathered all the strength he had to shift his weight back onto his knees and unroll is upper body. He then let a very attentive FP handle him like a piece of broken porcelain, and rest an apologetic kiss on his forehead minutes later as he said goodnight with a sad smile.

\---

‘Jones, you want to talk about it?’ Toni had laid her big brown eyes on him during math class and did not let go until the bell finally put him out of his misery. But then she’d blocked his way out of the classroom, from which they were the last people to leave.

Jughead had only missed one day of school - he was getting a bit stressed about the repercussions of his repeated absences - but could tell that the pink-haired girl had suspicions rising from the way he handled himself. It wasn’t difficult to see that something was wrong; he walked and moved with the agility of a disabled eighty-year-old. But it didn’t mean that he wanted to spill his guts about it.

‘Talk about what… The algebra test coming up next week? Why yes, I’d love to.’ Jughead straightened as best he could and hurried a somewhat cynical smirk on his face to complete the self-assured demeanor.

‘Don’t play games with me,’ Toni read right through him, ‘I’m not totally oblivious you know.’

He knew she wasn’t. In fact she was one of the smartest people in this school. But either way, what could she really do?

‘Look, I fell off my skates again. Nothing to cry wolf over, OK?’ This was a ridiculous excuse which bore _zero_ chance of being trusted, Jughead knew this much. But giving a believable reason for his state wasn’t what he was trying to do. What he meant to say between the lines was _‘Thank you kindly, but this is none of your concern and I don’t need your pity.’_

Upon hearing this Toni started body-scanning him, again. And he felt himself cringe, again.

‘Whatever is happening… We could probably help, you know.’

And by _we_ , she undoubtedly meant the Serpents. _So thank you, but no thank you._ His dad may have succumbed to the siren song, but he wasn’t about to give in. His point of view on the matter hadn’t changed and the only ‘gang’ he would ever be interested in being a part of was his musical-loving popcorn-eating Riverdale High posse.

‘We’d do it as a favor, you wouldn’t have to join.’ She insisted, looking deep into his tired eyes.

Jughead hadn’t been in many of these situations before, but was experienced enough to know that there is _no_ such thing as a totally free good deed in life. Even if Toni sounded very honest about it. One day or the other, someone else from her gang was bound to come and collect the return payment, and it wasn’t worth getting roped into whatever that would be.

‘Honestly Toni, it’s fine. Nothing I can’t deal with.’ He said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Her expression switched from perusing to slightly saddened. 

‘Fine Jones, if you say so. Take care of yourself, will you? You look like a stray cat who hasn’t managed to scavenge a bountiful dumpster in awhile.’

Jughead gratified her with a small laugh as an answer, and watched as she walked away.

As soon as she was out of view however, the smile faded and he suddenly felt like he could cry. He’d just let go of his _one shot_ at making a friend. At being able to offload some of the _many_ fears that permanently burdened his mind. At having someone in this horrible school _care_ about him.

Jughead dragged himself to his locker and next class with a heavy heart. Maybe he could text Archie or Kevin after school and see what they were up to? It would be so nice to chat innocently over a couple of milkshakes. But then again he couldn’t go to Pop’s anymore… Not after what had happened. Also, he’d have to explain to the guys why he was back on day 3 of a horrendous fracture which should be well into the healing phase by now. They were both perceptive enough to realize his struggle on their own, and he was far too weary to come up with any new shitty excuse.

So instead of trying to seek the much needed comfort of his friends, Jughead headed home and went to bed at 6:30pm, so he could go back to ignoring the world and retreating into his quiet oblivion.

\---

Toni wasn’t entirely sure what she was seeing when looking at Jughead Jones. The kid was a _complete_ enigma.

He was certainly easy on the eyes – not that she was into boys herself, but she could still appreciate a beautiful face – and when he had first arrived in Southside High, she could smell the air of confidence that emanated from him. It wasn’t arrogant in any way, more like a particular spark of intelligence in his expression that gave him a very different aura to the rest of the lethargic student population. And his soft-spoken ways somewhat struck a chord with her. She could tell that he had a rare and unfaltering kindness embedded in him, and just the right amount of mischief too.

The fact that he was extremely smart was confirmed very quickly. He didn’t brag about it, but she’d occasionally seat close enough to see that all his grades were solid A+ and could tell by the way teachers addressed him that they _all_ regarded his abilities very highly.

Whenever he was asked a question, his - very few - words were always right on the money and made him sound as if he had accumulated the wisdom of several lifetimes.

Toni had been very disappointed when he’d declined to join the Serpents, as he would have made an excellent recruit and all-around great addition. She couldn’t entirely understand the reasons behind his choice. His dad was the Serpent King after all, so he was legacy.

But on second thought, she could perceive a tangible difference between FP and Jughead Jones.

The father was also definitely far from being an idiot – it must have been a family attribute - and was undeniably a born leader who could rally anyone by just looking at them.

But the son had something extra special. Toni couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. Perhaps it was his palpable sensitivity. Or a different attitude towards life that she wasn’t used to seeing in this bleak environment.

So perhaps the fact that he didn’t want to become a Serpents wasn’t that bizarre after all. And without the shadow of a doubt, he’d be eaten alive by the more senior members of the gang who thought that all new kids – regardless of their heritage - had to prove themselves, and would certainly roughhouse him to make this point.

He was hardly bigger than a twig and seemed to be getting skinnier by the minute. Which was yet another puzzle in Toni’s mind; did he have some kind of illness that no one knew about? He did miss school sometimes inexplicably. As FP made it a point to _never_ advertise his home life to the gang – most likely in order to maintain his strong commander persona – she didn’t have any point of reference apart from what she was seeing. Which was just crumbs of information.

She’d also noticed other subtle changes in his behavior. He looked less sure of himself these days, always taking in his surroundings with wandering eyes and locating exit points as if to make sure he could get out quickly if need be. He seemed to have grown ostensibly more wary of Southside High overtime, but then again she could guess that just about anyone would feel the same way. High school was notoriously difficult for all kinds of kids everywhere, but what they were living right here was closer to a battlefield than secondary education.

One of the things Toni had contemplated was the possibility that Jughead was finding himself in the line of fire with other enemies… Say the Ghoulies for example. Especially when he’d shown up with his arm all wrapped up. But she had quickly discarded this idea. With FP Jones as a father, the kid only had to say a word to him and any potential problem would be sorted in a couple of finger snaps.

She refused to imagine any abuse at home, because in her experience FP could be tough love and a little rough on the edges, but overall he was fair to kids and never physically touched any of them at the Serpents’ camp.

So after Jughead’s next mysterious absence from school, when he’d shown up with yet another look of death on his face and his head bowed in a sort of ‘forlorn capitulation’, she had simply decided to ask him.

She did not, however, receive any satisfactory answer. Jughead hadn’t told her to mind her own business per se, but had more or less said something to that effect. And the problem was that she didn’t really know him after all, even if she felt that she kind of did from just observing him. And had clearly grown a bit of a soft spot for him. But in the end, she could only push so far.

As she joined her gang on their lunch break that day, she had had a hard time shaking the uneasiness from her mind. Her friend Sweet Pea caught it and said;

‘Here we go again… Mama Bear T. worrying about the whole damn planet like it’s her mission to mend broken hearts! You gotta let it go girl, he _doesn’t_ want anything to do with us.’

‘But something doesn’t sit well with me. He’s got some kind of a problem, that much is clear.’

‘Don’t we all though? He hasn’t pledged, remember, so you don’t owe him anything. Focus on the people who matter to us, OK? Plus, the lucky bastard is FP’s son for god’s sake! If anyone knows how to handle situations, that’s him. So leave it to the master and don’t waste your energy.’

Toni still didn’t come across as being so convinced, therefore Sweet Pea insisted.

‘Look, he’s got his own friends on the Northside. That’s why he’s not bothered about talking to anyone in this school… Remember that redhead choir boy we see sometimes at Pop’s? And Fang’s _secret-not-so-secret_ boyfriend, Kevin Keller? Those are _his_ people, so they’ll look after him, don’t you worry.’

That made her feel a little better. Sweet Pea was right. Jughead had support from his previous life and could go to them if anything was indeed happening. That’s probably why he hadn’t felt so compelled to confide into her about whatever was going on, and she needed to respect that he kept to himself and to his Riverdale High relations.

\---

Archie had finally come to a decision regarding his situation with Jughead. He was going to wait and see when a ‘spontaneous’ text would come through; meaning when his best friend himself would be the one to initiate contact, and when he’d come forward and ask to rekindle.

Then, _of course_ , Archie would be at his disposal almost immediately because that’s the way things work between brothers, but in the meantime he realized that he really needed to cool it off.

And this was for two reasons.

Firstly, Jughead was clearly backing out and Archie didn’t want to chase him. He’d already made ample amends for their fallout from the previous summer, and now to make sure that they were on an even keel – the basis of all successful relationships, had once said his mom – it needed to be a two-way street.

Secondly, Hiram had just told him about a ‘wind of change’ soon coming to the Southside, which meant that Lodge Industries would be put at odds with the Serpents for the foreseeable future. In a major and conflictual way.

Archie was well aware that FP Jones used to be the leader of the gang, and was apparently still involved in some capacity, making it _very_ awkward for him as he was finding himself clearly on the other side of the fence regarding any upcoming argument.

The teenager wasn’t exactly sure what his boss’ plans for the derelict district were, but he knew that it was going to make some local dealings pretty difficult and shift power trends. Therefore, it was highly probable that things would be a bit heated there for awhile.

So all in all, when Archie tried to justify to himself his attitude towards Jughead, he focused on the fact that he wasn’t entirely closing the door on their friendship but rather leaving it open for his brother to come through when he would feel ready.

He was also comforted by the idea that Jughead had clearly made some friends in his new school and neighborhood. This _had to be_ the logical explanation as to why he was never available to come to the Northside anymore, not even to Archie’s house where he knew perfectly well that he had a standing invitation from both him and Fred.

Maybe this had been a long time coming though. Jughead had always felt like an outsider on this side of the tracks, but perhaps he fit right in on the Southside? It would make a certain amount of sense, as literally all the kids Archie ever crossed paths with in Sunnyside seemed to be dark and brooding. Exactly like his best friend.

So unfortunately, it all came down to this. Jughead didn’t need him anymore, and Archie had to let him go for good so that he could fully embrace the new life and connections he was always meant for.

And as long as Jughead had somebody to lean on, he would be OK.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Toni 😍  
> Oh FP 😩  
> Oh Jughead and Archie 😭
> 
> If you haven’t read my foreword notes at the beginning of the story I encourage you to do so. Just in case you’re wondering about the general pace or the fact that lots of details are *not* canon-compliant… They were never meant to be! I guess it’s not an entirely alternate universe since the setting is the same but it massively mixes up and diverges from the show.


	12. Chapter 12

Jughead needed to stay away from Archie for a bit. Well, everyone in the Northside really, but Archie especially.

The fracture, the robbery, FP’s relapse… There were too many things he didn’t want – or rather _couldn’t_ – explain to his best friend because they all led to bigger conversations that were also impossible to have. So he waited. One, two, three weeks. And more.

The problem, however, was that past a certain point things started to feel that they had gone too far. Jughead wasn’t egocentric enough _not_ to notice that Archie had stopped texting, and knew that it was entirely his fault. He needed to be the one to wave the white flag, but with each passing day it was becoming more awkward and difficult. He’d left too long a gap and didn’t know where to start anymore.

Plus, some of the things he was trying to hide hadn’t exactly gone away.

And there were also some material questions; he couldn’t offer or accept to meet at Pop’s because he no longer dared to show his face there. He couldn’t turn up on Elm Street for fear of running into Betty - the breakup still being too raw for him. And he couldn’t even ask Archie to come to Sunnyside because a situation – of which he had no details - had gone tense between the Serpents and Lodge Industries, and he didn’t want to risk a confrontation if his dad unexpectedly showed up at the trailer.

Therefore, Jughead felt entirely trapped. It was a repeat of the previous summer, except this time _he_ was the one deserting. The very thing he’d vowed to _never_ do.

This sense of dread over the whole story – and the many satellite ones - was adding itself as one more element fueling his now constant anxiety. It was like a profound malaise that never quite left him. He’d wake up with an overwhelming weight that held him down, feeling each part of his body more vividly than the other, but inhabited by a complete emptiness at the very same time. His throat and chest felt crushed and overworked, and his limbs seemed all too heavy and extremely hard to move.

Every morning, his alarm clock would start his day by blaring in rhythm with his everlasting headache, and he needed to actively remind himself why he had to get out of bed. Why it was even worth to keep going, to try and function. But every single morning, it was getting harder to find the reasons and convince himself. Every single morning, it took longer to perform this exhausting routine and push himself from under the covers.

Jughead had now narrowed down his activities to just two main ones.

The first was study _obsessively_ , because it still managed to take his mind off of everything and offered a bare minimum of comfort. Thus, for hours on end, he’d fill his brain with _so much_ information that sometimes he joked to himself that he was probably going to crash his own internal hard drive.

But then he’d offset that with his self-identified _other weird behavior_ which he’d now come to fondly nickname ‘Le Néant’, after reading some pretty intense French philosophy. To him, it simply meant retreating in his place of nothingness, tuning out the world completely and letting himself be engulfed by the desolation that lived in him like a silent companion.

If he had tried to explain it to someone – not that he ever would - perhaps they might have thought that it sounded relaxing. Like a form of meditation or mindfulness exercise. But Jughead was smart enough to know the difference.

Le Néant _wasn’t_ good.

It wasn’t restful or promoting his wellness. It was dark and sullied, scary and compelling. When he let himself go to that place, he felt as though he was surrendering to obscurity and he didn’t actually have a choice. It was like an addiction.

The only manageable thing about it was that Jughead could sort of turn it on and off depending on where he was and whether he was alone. But more and more, he felt as if it was a growing force that demanded more power and was becoming harder to control. It was like a calling that echoed a little louder every single day, and it was a bit frightening to think that at one point he might simply lock himself in there for good and never come out. And it was even scarier to think that as time went by, Jughead started to care less and less if this was eventually bound to happen.

\---

It was now the end of April and the snow was finally melting. Emerging from beneath its former white and frosty prison, a pristine coat of fresh grass with new shoots of seasonal flowers was finally coloring the grounds of Riverdale again.

Spring was meant to be a time of hope, anticipation and renewed promises. Just being able to leave the house for walks, and feel the sunshine against one’s skin should have offered relief for everyone. Young and old, rich and poor, North and South sides alike.

For Jughead, however, it didn’t manage to do _anything_. There was far too much going on in his life to consider relaxing for even just a minute, and while other people planned their upcoming summer with a regenerated energy, he was just crumbling more and more under the weight of loneliness and anxiety.

And it was getting harder for him to identify this very fact alone. Only a year ago, he might have found some of his own reactions alarming and tried to course-correct them by reaching out to others. But now they were just part of his daily life. ‘Business as usual’, _move along please there is nothing to see here._

He’d had more situations with FP. More drunken and mean nights, more fights, more verbal abuse, more worries and more pain. That, too, was becoming part of his patterns. He accepted it all though, mainly because he didn’t have a choice.

 _Yes_ , he had actually thought about leaving again. Split once and for all, grab his belongings and set up somewhere else. But he was simply too mentally exhausted to contemplate the implications of homelessness again.

When he’d done it the first time, it was a bit different.

First, he had no experience of it and therefore his outlook was relatively ‘fresh’ and naive. He felt like he could do just about anything at that point – which was no longer the case.

Also, back then, there were a number of options for him to seek comfort; Pop’s, Riverdale High, some well-kempt parks and even the laundromat on the Northside of town. All of these offered a punctual reprieve, and he could sort of alternate between these places to find solace for a few hours. But now, none of those were available to him anymore. Everything on the Northside was out of bounds.

And everything on the Southside was either too dangerous – school was definitely off-limits for sleeping as it’d the equivalent of walking willingly into a Ghoulies-infested den – or inhabited by Serpents which made it awkward for him, as word of his whereabouts would get right back to his dad.

On a particularly low afternoon, Jughead had fantasized about calling Archie and Fred Andrews, and asking them to move back in. Oh _the feels_ the very thought alone had brought to his fatigued soul. It was like dreaming of walking into a gingerbread house and lying down on a marshmallow bed, with waves of a warm and sweet-smelling air brushing against his skin, and choirs of cherubins singing harmonious melodies softly into his ears.

‘Just pick up your phone and dial!’ He could almost hear Archie whispering to him. And he knew he wouldn’t be judged. He knew that _materialistically speaking_ , this was a possibility and well within his reach if he really wanted it.

But the make-believe tale quickly faded away and reality hit Jughead’s brain.

No, of course he _couldn’t_ do that… Call up and just say; ‘Hey guys, how about you just take me in again?’ And that was for a couple of reasons.

If Jughead thought about his time at the Andrews’ residency, one detail had always struck him as being telling; he’d _never_ had an actual bed there, they had only ever given him an _air-mattress_.

He’d lived there for a few months and regularly – also secretly, because he was polite and didn’t want to make a fuss – had to get the pump out to refuel it. It was probably an honest mistake, a simple oversight that should fall into the category of ‘details’. Jughead was probably being overly sensitive about it. Especially considering that his bedding solution right before that had just been a hard cold floor.

But it told him one thing; that he was only ever temporary over there on Elm Street. He _didn’t_ actually bear the last name Andrews after all, and he _wasn’t_ Archie’s real brother.

Who was he kidding by even considering himself as such? He wasn’t worthy enough. He was born under a very different star and a friendly nickname would _never_ make up for this difference. And it wasn’t as if he could be upset with them about it; it wasn’t exactly their fault. They had no legal or moral obligation to help him, but did their best anyway. Archie had even urged him to stay. He would be a vile monster if he was spiteful about it all when they had actually tried to help and gave him _something_ while most other people had just moved along with a raised eyebrow.

But the universal fact remained; no matter how hard anyone tries, or how much they want to make up for when they say you are ‘family’ - even in the friendliest and most honest of terms - it comes with certain limitations. Unless you are blood-related, then you simply _aren’t_.

So Jughead was clear about that; he was redundant in the Andrews’ life and couldn’t impose long-term, no matter how badly he would have liked to pretend that he belonged.

And there was another consideration anyway. His _actual_ family. And by that it meant FP… The only member who was even available to him, and hadn’t fled the household or abandoned him.

And the situation there was a little more than just preoccupying.

Indeed, it seemed that Jughead’s father was falling even further this time around and getting himself into inextricable situations. _More inextricable than being accused of murder? …_ would anyone in their right mind ask. Perhaps not, but without the shadow of a doubt, definitely more guilty this time. And getting to an actual point of no return.

Word on the street - or rather in the hallways of Southside High - was that FP Jones had taken up a new business; dealing Fizzle Rocks, the newest and most dangerous drug Riverdale had ever seen. Even worse than its predecessor, Jingle Jangle.

It made Jughead literally _sick_ , just thinking about the implications of this move. Not only FP was getting himself further into crime and risking his freedom a little more every single day, but even more worrying; his network was apparently distributing to _kids_. Boys and girls barely Jughead’s age. It was heartbreaking to think that his own dad put such little value into his own community and into trying to do the right thing.

People saw him as a role model, for god’s sake! He was the leader of a gang, and teenagers including some of his son’s own classmates were looking up to him. But FP was evidently more obsessed by the call of opportunity.

And to what effect? It wasn’t as if money was coming flooding into the trailer. In fact, there seemed to be less and less of it every day. FP wasn’t even bothered to provide food for his son anymore, who was going hungrier every single day.

Well, who _would have been_ going hungrier, if he hadn’t been afflicted by a sort of ‘eating paralysis’ as he’d started calling it to himself, for the lack of a better word.

But apart from the supply issues, other areas of the household were less than desirably managed. Just a couple of days before, Jughead had been surprised and ‘inconvenienced’ to find a _third-warning_ letter reminding his dad that he needed to pay their electricity bill, or it would be simply shut down in the next week or so.

FP had evidently ignored and hidden both previous notifications, and it was now up to his sixteen-year-old son to take care of the problem, however creatively he saw fit. This had provoked a mild panic-attack in said son. _‘Mild’_ because he hadn’t actually fainted this time around; he’d just laid on the floor hastily with his ears ringing and his vision blurry for about half an hour. Which was far better than his usual fits.

But the actual blow had yet to come. Once he was past the point of freaking out about the trailer potentially going dark - in the very literal way - Jughead had finally decided to tap into the Fun Fund, because he hadn’t yet gone back to his job and had run out of money.

It had been an extremely hard decision, a last resort really… Because the very design of it was for _happy things_. It metaphorically meant so much to him that it deserved to be preserved for as long as conceivably possible.

Indeed, it stood as the last shred of the promise FP had made to his son when he had moved back into Sunnyside some months before. That hope, that energy, that will. All fading away in an instant. Over some bill that needed an urgent payment.

The Fun Fund had been meant for a vacation, the purchase of a new barbecue or the upkeep of a pet, if FP ever agreed to get one… But now it was going to ensure that the Jones men could turn on the lights or the oven – if they ever came in possession of a frozen pizza, which in itself was fast becoming a dubious thought.

But then, when he’d reached into the old kitchen fissure to grab the rusty cookie tin, Jughead had realized with utter shock and horror that it was actually empty.

And for the first time _ever_ , this event had had an unforeseen and devastating effect on the teenager which was scary beyond nightmares; it involuntarily sent him straight into his Néant, without him being able to stop or tame it for a single second. It had come at him at full speed and force, with no reverse gear or switch-off button accessible to its very own owner.

Jughead was sat on the kitchen floor, completely unable to move, think or feel _anything_. It wasn’t as if he was retreating willingly into a place of comfort anymore, delaying a problem by just conjuring a stillness for awhile. This time, he had _zero_ control over himself and was entirely stuck in this utter purgatory. He had become a prisoner of his own mind.

And he was _completely aware_ all throughout. It wasn’t as if he was asleep or unconscious, but he simply stopped relating to the world. He felt as if he was just a particle of air, bouncing gingerly into the elements around him without any significance or substance whatsoever. As if he had stopped _being_ a person, and only lived through the multiple rays of light that danced nearby.

It was the most bizarre and compelling experience at the very same time. A whole new state that had been – perhaps thankfully – inaccessible before and that quickly felt compulsive.

Once it had been over, who knows how many hours later - Jughead hadn’t been able to tell - he thought carefully and explained it to himself by comparing it to the legend of Narcissus.

Narcissus was the Greek God who was so obsessed and enchanted by his own reflection on the water waves that he had died from starvation after looking at himself for too long.

This whole new level of Le Néant felt like this. Jughead wasn’t in love with his own image or had no fixation over his features… There was no reason, he knew that he was disgusting at best of times. But he seemed to have acquired this unique relationship to his surroundings. As if had no choice but to become static in space and time, through the way of his own mind acting as a portal to another world.

And he had just lost the ability to turn it off. Something or someone outside _had_ to do it for him, otherwise he would simply die in this very state. 

\---

As it turned out, the ‘breaking factor’ in this occasion ended up being none other than FP. He had walked into the trailer, inebriated, and found his son simply sat on the floor with an empty box in his hand, looking lifeless and frozen as if he’d seen a poltergeist of some sort.

He nudged him with his foot first and then waved a hand in front of his eyes, barely taken aback by the oddness of the whole scene. Jughead came to his senses very slowly, registering that someone was talking to him and vaguely wondering how long it had been before he had realized it.

The fright of having been disconnected from reality for what seemed to be a few hours – as it was now nighttime – provoked such strong reaction in Jughead that he almost kicked his dad back with anger. 

‘Wow boy, you’re in a mood today! Have you eaten a lion or something?’

Jughead scrambled to his feet and brandished the cookie jar accusatively.

‘Dad, what happened to the money we were saving? Why did you take it?’ He didn’t care that he was facing a drunk and uncoordinated FP, potentially putting himself in harm’s way. If he stayed at a reasonable distance, he shouldn’t be risking any new broken bones.

FP shrugged and held up his hands in an admission of guilt. They were both tired of the incessant confrontations, so why try to get out of this one? Jughead would protest for a bit and then leave it alone, because that’s how the kid was wired. _A bit weak, never stood up for himself._

FP was surprised, however, to find out that he was getting a bite back this time around. What had gotten into him? Surely it wasn’t about the money itself, because Jughead’s needs were hardly greater than those of a cricket.

‘Dad, don’t you care? We were saving it for something better, for something meaningful.’ Jughead scolded.

‘My bike got impounded last week. Forgive me for thinking that getting it back was more important than buying beach toys, you know.’ FP’s tone was condescending. He really didn’t appreciate that his son just bluntly ignored the value of things. That he felt some frivolous vacation had to take priority over his ability to move around.

‘But why was it seized in the first place?’ Jughead didn’t even want to know. It was just to try and make FP recognize his own unreliable actions.

‘It’s none of your business, _Jughead_.’

‘Well it is since you have taken my money, _dad_.’

FP came close to him, tuning the threatening look and stance up to a maximum. As per usual. But Jughead didn’t recoil, he was feeling far too annoyed and pushed over his limits for that. He stood tall to face his father, thinking that he cared little if he had to take a blow over this. He had a point to make, FP _shouldn’t_ have emptied their savings like that.

They remained immobile for a long minute, gauging each other like deadly animals thrown into a fighting pit.

Jughead almost _wanted_ his dad to hit him. He had been so scared by his own ‘brain glitch’ just hours ago, that he needed a reminder that he was alive and could _feel_ things.

FP was irritated and resentful. The alcohol was clouding his judgment, and he had an angry energy within him that he just demanded to be taken out on someone. All the Serpents, without a single exception, lined up to acclaim him. _All of them_. Most of his enemies too. So why couldn’t his own son show an ounce of that? Was he so cocky that he didn’t _respect_ his father? He needed to be taught a lesson of humility. Right about now.

FP approached Jughead in slow motion, grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off his feet with a disconcerting ease. He was so close to his face that Jughead felt nauseated by the booze and cigarettes waft that emitted from him. But he _didn’t_ take his eyes off of FP’s death glare for a single second... He could have just said ‘go ahead, beat me up dad’ and it would have been the same thing.

But then suddenly FP dropped and pushed his son out of the way, completely startling him in the process. In a rageful movement, he picked up and trashed the kitchen table instead, sending everything on it flying in all directions. Including Jughead’s laptop which crashed with a bang so loud that it resonated throughout the whole trailer.

A surprised Jughead collected himself quickly and kneeled down to inspect his equipment. He knew that his dad had probably done this so he wouldn’t hurt _him_ , but it almost felt worse. Just looking at it, Jughead knew there was simply no way that it would ever turn on again. There was a large crack in the middle of the keyboard and the two sides were barely connecting to each other anymore.

Without a word, he picked up the computer like an injured bird and headed for his room without so much as a glance in his father’s direction. He could faintly hear FP in the background already mumbling some feeble apologies, but he couldn’t face him anymore. He was done for the day.

His own father had managed to strip him of one more thing – possibly the last - that made him Jughead. His saving grace to express himself freely and to dream of a better life that he was now _certain_ he would _never_ manage to attain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter could have been 'How things continue to get even worse for poor Jughead who is getting positively & worryingly overwhelmed... And incidentally cut off from the last person who could have helped.'
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts if you feel so inclined to share! Love and light to all 🤗


	13. Chapter 13

As he heard the familiar ring on the other side of the phone, Jughead suddenly panicked. What had possessed him to think that this was a good idea in the first place? Was he that desperate that he had resorted to call the last person on earth who wanted to hear from him?

 _She probably won’t pick up anyway_ , he tried to reassure himself, feeling his heartbeat taking speed frantically as each beep went through. 1, 2… Should he leave a message if it went to voicemail? 4, 5… Probably not, he’d sound confused and a little pathetic more than anything. 6…

‘Hello?’

Jughead was so taken aback to hear an actual voice that he nearly dropped his phone and forgot to answer.

‘Who is this?’ The person resumed on the other side.

‘Erm, hi. It’s Jughead, Mom.’ Apparently, she didn’t have his phone number saved. Wait, why? Neither hers nor his had changed in the last 3 years. He heard an annoyed and barely hidden sigh.

‘What do you want?’

Huh. Good question; _what did he want?_ He wasn’t too sure actually. Did he need a reason to call his own mother, though?

‘Just to see how you and Jellybean are doing.’ He was doing his best effort to appear upbeat, and interested. Because he truly was. ‘You know, to check on you.’

Gladys, on the other hand, sounded short and irritated.

‘Jughead, you can’t just call up like this. I’ve told your father that you guys need to leave us alone. The least you could do is to respect that.’

The teenager felt a chill run down his spine, as if he was right back to being five years old again and told off for loading the dishwasher the wrong way.

‘Oh. I’m sorry, he never mentioned this to me.’

‘Well, now you know. I don’t want any contact coming from Riverdale, neither FP nor you. So please put that in your head or next time I’ll block this number.’

The conversation was going way faster than Jughead had anticipated and was taking a very unpleasant turn.

‘But mom, what if I want to get in touch with Jellybean?’ He argued.

‘You simply _don’t_ Jughead. I don’t want you to bother her. She’s been doing so well out here and I don’t want her to get _any_ reminders of our old life. It would be too depressing and absolutely _useless_ to her.’

‘But… But what about me? What if _I_ want to hear her voice? I really miss her mom, and she’s my sister. You can’t keep us apart.’ He was doing such a poor job of defending himself, but he needed to try. And fight for his family.

‘You need to forget her, kid. It’s been nearly 3 years now and she’s moved on. You’re no longer part of our lives and I wouldn’t even let her within the same state as you anyw…’

‘ _What did I do wrong?_ ’ Jughead cried, suddenly very emotional. ‘I’m sorry that it didn’t work out between you and dad, but I don’t see why _I_ should be collateral damage. I’ve done nothing to deserve to be cut off like this!’

‘Well, the thing is that you’re _exactly_ the same as him. You Jones men are _bad seeds_. I just don’t want my baby girl to fall under your bad influence, end of the story. So, stay away.’

Jughead couldn’t find any words to answer that. He felt so betrayed by his mother’s attitude. Both towards him and FP.

‘And Jug,’ Gladys resumed, ‘JB _doesn’t_ even want to speak to you anyway. So you have to respect her wishes, if anything.’

That couldn’t be right. That simply didn’t sound like the truth at all.

‘You’re lying, mom.’ He managed to say timidly, voice quivering on that last word.

‘No I’m not kid, we were just speaking about you a couple of days ago. She said that it’d been so long now, she doesn’t even know what you look like anymore, but that you probably haven’t evolved in the slightest.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘That you are incapable of change, Jughead. You’re not going to go anywhere in life, and you’re certainly never going to leave Riverdale.’

‘That’s not true!’

‘Hmm, isn’t it though? Tell me one thing that has changed about you in the last couple of years… Do you still wear those bland S t-shirts and that stupid hat of yours?’

‘It doesn’t mean anything mom!’

‘Yeah, right. That’s what I thought.’ Her tone was patronizing and full of repugnance.

And Jughead was getting more and more upset, like a wounded dog.

‘What did I ever do to you?’ He asked, suddenly feeling so at odds that he wanted to get to the bottom of a question that had been taunting him for a long time. Gladys’ answer was so prompt that it was clear she’d been reflecting and ruminating on the matter herself for quite awhile.

‘You were _born_ , Jughead.’ She scolded. ‘I _never_ wanted you. From the moment I saw your scrawny little face I knew that it wasn’t going to work out between us. You were such a whiny and needy baby. All you did was crying and getting sick. You had no fight in you, no instincts or self-possession, all you did was suck up energy and give _nothing_ back in return.’

Jughead had sunk to the floor at the bottom of his bed and started to cry softly. He couldn’t answer anything back, and Gladys seemed too ready to spit her venom to moderate and soften her own message to him.

‘What are you doing right now, huh? Sobbing like a child, I bet! Doesn’t it just go to demonstrate exactly what I’m telling you?’

‘But mom…’ He weakly attempted.

‘Don’t ‘ _but mom’_ me, Jughead. Grow a pair and hit back. This isn’t about me anymore, it’s about you and your inability to adapt. It’s called _survival of the fittest_ , kid. And don’t say that I never tried to help you with this. The lessons are just entirely lost on you.’

Jughead just sniffed, trying to collect himself but letting her get away with every word, completely unable to quarrel.

‘So, do me a favor, will you? _Stop calling_! I don’t want to hear from you, and JB doesn’t want to either. We’ve both decided to drop the dead weight that you and your father are so we can finally thrive. And trust me, we’ve been doing _much_ better since we cut off our infected limbs. So this is it kid… Goodbye, and good luck.’

And then she hung up.

Jughead buried his head between his knees and let the tears roll on his cheeks.

He’d called for a bit of comfort, for help and support in the form of a few innocently exchanged news. He wasn’t even going to beg for attention or anything, he just needed to hear a familiar voice. But instead of indulging him with a minimum of notice or courtesy, his own mother had chosen to _destroy_ him. To make him feel that he was less than nothing and didn’t deserve any consideration.

And the worst thing was that he had absorbed every single word of her hateful speech and let it resonate in him like a broken record.

He _was_ whiny and he _was_ weak, he kept telling himself. He’d known and ignored this for awhile. Everyone else in his family seemed to be so self-sufficient, but he’d always hidden behind others so _they_ would defend him. Archie, Betty, even Fred Andrews. And now that he was on his own, he was simply falling apart. He had no idea how to resist or how to just _be_ without the help of others. That had to be a major personality flaw, no?

\---

In the days following the call with Gladys, Jughead tried his very best to put it all behind... Store away the raw disappointment and heartbreak he had felt upon hearing that his sister no longer wished - and even _resented_ \- the idea of being in contact with him.

Feelings kept popping to the surface uncomfortably, and in response he would make sure to systematically push them back _deep_ inside, trying to ‘evolve’ as best he could with the situation. He couldn’t be entirely sure that his mother was telling the whole truth anyway, so he tried to see this as a temporary situation.

Perhaps Gladys had poisoned Jellybean with negative ideas about him - to some extent - and when they would be adults he could try and seek a relationship with her once again. That seemed like the reasonable thing to do, albeit such a long time before they would get there.

Like… _If he survived long enough to see Jellybean’s 18 th birthday, _Jughead half-joked to himself.

He went back to his job at the warehouse, as that electricity bill couldn’t wait and he needed to provide for other things too. They were so happy with the extra pair of hands that they loaded him with twice the hours; before, after school, and during the weekend. He was now committed to a 36 hour-week, which technically-speaking was actually a full-time job for someone else.

Not that anyone cared to flag that a 16-year-old going to school shouldn’t be putting that _insane_ amount of pressure on himself. Or send him for a much-needed health check to obtain a ‘fit for work’ certificate, which he would have most certainly failed to pass.

But Jughead knew that he was fine.

The constant tingling in his hands was probably just due to the singular action of carrying heavy and odd-shaped objects. And the dizziness he felt daily was most likely down to waking up so early every single morning.

_No big deal. His own fault really._

There was more way important things to worry about anyway, such as the rent of the trailer. Because even if this housing solution was classified as low-income and more affordable than a real home, the deadlines and dues were still very much the same.

Jughead didn’t know if FP intended on providing for that or not, but preferred _not_ to find out the hard way, with debt collectors pounding on their door or an eviction notice.

Other than that, for any ‘disposable income’ leftover - _if ever_ \- he thought long and hard about buying another laptop. But to be honest, it would be awhile before he could gather that kind of extra money again, and when it came down to the grittier details he realized that he felt no energy to express himself anyway. Even the bad stuff.

So far, he’d always used writing as an outlet for his feelings, but more and more he was noticing that he wouldn’t be able to put his current thoughts on paper. Everything was too dark right now, and seeing it black and white would only make it more real.

It all sounded pretty scary. And draining.

And to be totally fair, Jughead could get around the ‘no laptop situation’ sort of easily. Whenever he needed the internet for school research or anything else, he’d simply go on his phone, or better yet… To the library, which had become a sanctuary for him. No Ghoulies ever set foot in there – it was too intellectual for them -, and the feeling of being surrounded by books, knowledge and virtual people in the many stories that filled the shelves gave him a bit of peace.

So he kept going this way, taking one day at a time. He also tried to actively _forget_ the Northside and its residents. To put a bit of necessary distance. To protect himself from the warm, fuzzy feeling that it had provided all these months before. Because it was simply _not_ accessible to him anymore. And would _never_ be again. He was lucid about it.

Jughead ended up doing such a good job of blocking it all out that he missed an article featured in the Register untitled ‘Catching a killer; the insane and meticulous detective job conducted by a high school girl named Betty Cooper’ which described the ins and outs of the Blackhood investigation and how she’d gotten too close to it by exposing herself and becoming a victim of the murderer’s attention.

The perpetrator was actually a janitor from Riverdale High who was evidently deranged and sought revenge in whatever shape and form _he_ decided was fair. And _everyone else_ decided – for valid reasons - was twisted and reprehensible.

The fallout of the whole case was far greater in Betty’s life than she could have ever anticipated, ranging from positive effects – interviews, internship offers and support systems getting set up in her name – to more insidious and unforeseen aspects; namely her autonomy of opinions and agency of actions being taken away from her.

If anyone had cared enough to ask what she had regretted most over the whole thing - microphones or camera flashes away - the answer would have 100% been _‘the relationship with the love of my life’._

But in the heat of things and the hype of events, she simply forgot to put a value on that aspect. And it _really_ wasn’t her fault. Everyone was telling her that she was so young, and that she needed to 'look forward’, to ‘embrace a new wind’, to get rid of the past and work on a new version of her _best self_. All inspiring and helpful words, honestly.

Everyone urged her to feel that _she_ was the priority. Which was right. She indulged in the very idea because it _was_ the best choice, and it would ensure she’d enhance herself and strive after the whole experience, rather than crumble.

And it all became so natural - also entirely forgivable - to be single-mindedly focused on herself for a few weeks. Because it was the only way to get over it all, and not let herself get overwhelmed.

Plus, what she was hearing in her peripheral environment was that her ‘old flame’ seemed to be doing just fine on his own too, within _his kind_. That he had chosen to reject the Northside entirely, and fully embrace the peculiarity of his heritage on the Southside. Gangs and the whole shebang.

So, who was she to try and tell him off about it? To tell him that he was simply _wrong_ with this new trajectory?

Archie – his very best friend, _his brother_ – had tried, and had apparently failed miserably. So, she wasn’t about to dig another useless hole for herself. A hole deeper than the one she had already dug when she had unilaterally broken up with him.

_No. Nuh-huh, sorry. Not possible._

If there was one thing she wanted to protect about her former relationship with Jughead, it was the last shred of dignity she still felt she had left.

And explaining to him that she had been nothing but a pawn, and that she had sacrificed him and delivered the message through Archie in the most spineless of ways went against that very principle.

\---

In another sphere not so far removed, things between Lodge Industries and the Serpents were getting tense. Incredibly so. What had transpired from the last few weeks was that Hiram Lodge was essentially trying to acquire every landmark and property that had any value on the Southside, with a grand design in mind which he was keeping a complete secret. Even from his protégé Archie Andrews.

Having dealt with such situations in the past, the gang tended to treat the problem the only way they knew; through scheming and intimidation. Thus, a couple of operations owned by Hiram on the Northside had been burnt to the ground, and Sheriff Keller was busy trying to pinpoint exactly who was responsible.

He was also trying to mediate in a very tricky situation as the conflict was fast getting wider than a handful of men, and rioting was most definitely on the cards if things didn’t settle very soon.

He attempted to reason with both Hiram and Mayor McCoy, explaining that even though the Southside was historically far more deprived than the Northside, it still had a reason to exist as it stood. Indeed, it was important to maintain a space for disadvantaged populations, who would otherwise be pushed further into poverty. Both geographically and metaphorically.

Mayor McCoy - who happened to be Sheriff Keller’s girlfriend – was not insensitive to the message and evidently cared about the wellbeing of all her constituents. She was trying her best to safeguard projects by reminding their investor of the many obligations which came with the ownership of a major part of the municipality.

She couldn’t, however, legally forbid Hiram Lodge from purchasing lands and estates, and the truth was that upon further consideration it made a certain amount of sense on a purely economic standpoint to allow movements of wealth to flow through both sides of the tracks.

Lodge Industries was promising to rejuvenate the Southside, to supply new jobs for the locals and to offer a range of accessible opportunities for otherwise overlooked members of the run-down neighborhood. Something that no one else was putting their hand up for, in all truthfulness.

And the fact was, that if Southsiders – Serpents or not - swallowed their pride and rolled-up their sleeves, they could become part of their own success story. That was exactly how Hiram Lodge _loved_ to describe the situation with a very superior grin on his face. _Not at all_ as if he was trying to dismantle a multi-generational community and long-established gang just because he didn’t like them. Scratch that, _hated_ them.

Hmm. Tom Keller really loathed the man. He was only a glorified criminal who just knew how to get away with murder, quite literally. But being an appointed member of the force, the sheriff needed to remain on his good side - within reason - as he did with everyone else. Just to make sure that when elections came around again, he could manage to keep his job and continue to help his peers thanks to his authority.

Also the fact remained, that some of the activities the Serpents conducted were very far from being legal too. And highly destructive, if suspicions of recent drug dealings happened to be true. So technically speaking, Tom Keller couldn’t protect this aspect of the story by rising against Hiram Lodge. And it _would_ be a good idea to allow the businessman’s plan to ‘revamp and clean’ the Southside, in order to make it a safer place for kids no older than his own son Kevin.

Still, he wasn’t the type to go along without a word just because he felt threatened, or simply give into the miraged promise of killing two birds with one stone by letting Hiram get rid of the gang for him. Because some of the measures Lodge Industries was sneaking into the plans were obviously _not_ for the greater good, including for example wiping Southside High off the map and dispatching its students to neighboring districts.

The school - albeit being pretty grim – was one of the very few remaining positive influences on that side of the tracks. A place offering a shelter and a chance for teenagers from all horizons, trying to move on with their lives and invest into their own future.

Tom Keller knew that by closing the institute, it would not only heavily burden the rest of the county system, but also it would strip the poor area of the last standing refuge for wandering and innocent souls in search of a purpose.

He fought the decision for weeks, trying to defend his core believes and campaigning against the systematic Southside eradication that he was witnessing… But eventually – and with much regret - had to let go.

As frictions escalated and conflicts came to an all-time high, he had to step aside and keep his judgments to himself, for fear of his Sheriff post becoming another casualty of the power war that seemed to have aggressively overtaken the town of Riverdale.

\---

Upon hearing that Southside High was going to close for good in a couple of weeks and that he was being transferred back into Riverdale High, Jughead had a strange reaction.

He should have felt relieved, even happy, that he was going to be with his beloved friends again. In the better school too, with his trusted teachers and familiar facilities that seemed exponentially more comfortable, compared to the worn equipment and hallways of Southside High.

Just a few months ago Jughead would have been _thrilled_. This would have been his ideal solution to _all_ problems, almost making them go away. 

Against all expectations though, he actually felt _very_ stressed about this new development. And this was rather understandable… He had finally found a ‘rhythm’ for himself that seemed to work, and had overcome the lack of companionship to the extent that he now felt it was better for him to be entirely alone. Easier on all standards, most certainly.

But now he was going to be forced to _face_ his old friends again, and that sounded simply terrifying.

What would he say to them? How would he justify his silence, lack of contact for _weeks_ , and methodical refusal to show himself on the Northside? How would he even start to explain his appearance, which had changed so much in the last few months that he was hardly recognizable? And would he freak out if he ran into Betty? It was bound to happen, because the school wasn’t gigantic. The mere idea of unexpectedly bumping into her gave him night terrors and horrible sweats.

This was all _very very_ nerve-racking and as the deadline came closer, Jughead started to have more and more of his ‘absence episodes’ which increasingly took more energy out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I want to virtually murder Gladys Jones. Second, I want to bring her back to life and kill her all over again. End. By now Jughead is my tiny son and I want to personally send to hell anyone who is purposely hurting him (well, in my world anyway).
> 
> Also… Jughead isn’t relieved or happy to be back at Riverdale High, but I certainly am that this is happening!! Sh*t’s gonna go down now that he is going to be around his friends again. And it’s not going to be easy or instantaneous, I can guarantee that - I do have another few twists and turns in store for you - but there is finally some movement... Thank heavens!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are hugely appreciated if you are enjoying the reading.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little weekend reading for you all :D
> 
> Also; I wanted to give an extra word of warning. It is getting more and more descriptive regarding the many physical challenges Jughead is facing - mainly as a consequence of his deteriorating mental state… If you haven’t read the tags & foreword for this story and have stumbled in the middle of it (as it happens to me sometimes when I type keywords in search engines), I would encourage you to go back and check that, to make sure you are comfortable with this... because I'd say that it's definitely a hard read.

On the morning of his first day back at Riverdale High, Jughead decided to check his weight again. Just to see how far off he was, compared to when he’d left the school in the first place.

108.

He thought absolutely _nothing_ of that. He knew it was coming, he’d been avoiding the scale for a very good reason. It was a losing battle, quite literally. Food had become the enemy - or rather the latest - and every time he so much as thought about it, it made him feel nauseous.

His stomach had somehow grown so easy to upset that he could only eat very small amounts at a time - like a banana or a handful of dry cereal - periodically throughout the day. Otherwise if he attempted any more, say a sandwich, it would sit in him unbearably like a heavy stone until it came back up, even when he did his best efforts to try and keep it down. And forget an entire meal… The very idea of a burger and fries seemed completely ludicrous, and he even wondered how he’d _ever_ been able to handle that much in the past.

Standing in his boxers in front of the mirror, Jughead thought that he looked utterly ridiculous, like a long ghostly half-human stick. As if any strong wind would simply blow him away in an instant. The only upside to being this small was that it took literally nothing for him to pass out these days, saving him from actually feeling too much when the Ghoulies jumped him and showered him with kicks. And it made them stop faster too, because apparently they didn’t enjoy beating up someone who couldn’t feel it. So that was a win-win really.

Once he was fully dressed it really wasn’t _that bad_ after all. It mainly consisted of managing to cover up his body cleverly. To that effect, he’d started wearing extra layers so his clothes looked more padded, and realized that it also helped - marginally, but he’d take anything at this point - softening blows and keeping him somewhat warm. So he’d gotten into the habit of adding 2 or 3 thick thermals underneath his woolen sweater and sherpa jacket. Even if it was now mid-May.

He’d tie a flannel around his waist - his backside being the other area that might cause stares - and made sure to carefully pull his sleeves all the way to hide his wrists, which were so tiny that they looked like they would break with just a vigorous handshake.

Luckily though, his face hadn’t changed _too_ much. His cheeks were slightly sunken and his skin was pale, but that had more or less always been the case. His neck had hardly ever been bigger than a toothpick so no real change there either, and he’d also always had a very angular jaw and dark circles around his eyes since he had become a teenager. So overall the differences seemed minimal. And as long as he managed to emulate confidence, he was sure that he could avoid too much unwanted attention.

That morning as he readjusted his beanie, he told himself that _it would all be fine,_ and that _he was totally fine_ and _not at all petrified_ by the whole situation. He would keep conversations to a minimum, ignore the mad beating in his heart - that threatened to jump out of its place at any loud noise - and keep smiling no matter what. That was _key_. People loved a good smiling face, it made them feel reassured about nearly everything. He’d learned that after many years of dealing with teachers or other authority figures­ who sometimes questioned furtively if everything was in regular order in the privacy of the Jones’ household. Lastly he would also avoid the nurse’s office like the plague – even if he had to make a massive detour to get to a class - because it would only mean trouble if he ran into her.

It was a very simple plan. 

And as far as his 'former friends’ were concerned, he’d agree to polite pleasantries and quickly exchanged hellos, but wouldn’t engage in any sort of deep or meaningful conversation.

This really _wasn’t_ because of a lack of interest on his part, as he _deeply_ cared about each and every one of them and would have genuinely liked to get their updates of the past few weeks.

But he couldn’t allow – under any circumstances - for the focus to shift on to him… He just wouldn’t be able to stand stares or concerned questions, if any was to come up his way. And he wouldn’t know how exactly to navigate a rekindling of any sort, knowing how _badly_ he had screwed things up with them and how far ‘gone’ he had to be from their hearts.

Unfortunately for Jughead, the Ghoulies had also been transferred along with him to Riverdale High so he didn’t let himself dream of a truce, even thinking that his suffering would most likely _double_ since he was going back within Bulldog territory. Perhaps Reggie Mantle would even form a twisted alliance with Kurtz to cause him torment, and they could binge on him together, or take turns as they pleased.

All of that seemed very much on the cards.

As he passed the doors of his old alma mater, Jughead was pleased to notice that absolutely _nothing_ had changed. The same school projects decorated the walls, the same sports trophies filled the cabinet by the Principal’s office, the same Vixen uniforms popped out of classrooms and the same familiar toasty smell floated from the cafeteria. Which was now sickening rather than comforting, the only minor downside.

He carefully hung back to try and avoid Archie, Betty, Veronica and Kevin. He even contemplated hiding in his old janitor’s closet for all breaks – it’d always been a place of peace, however dirty and uncomfortable it was - and made sure to stay _the hell away_ from the students' lounge. He was aware that his tactics wouldn’t ensure his tranquility forever, but as long as he didn’t have to be physically present in any room, he would do his best to make himself scarce.

Which worked rather well until History class.

So far, he’d chosen a spot in the furthest corner opposite the entrance and hadn’t detached his eyes from his books a single time, in order to steer clear from anyone’s direct look on to him - should there be any. But when his 3rd period came around, he was too slow to join the ranks and choose a desk, and accidentally made eye contact a few rows to the left, with none other than Archie Andrews. Who was looking at him with just about as much dread as he was feeling. Which was enormous amounts.

_Oh how he so dearly wished he could disappear into thin air, right about now._

He spent the whole hour contemplating how to get away as quickly as he could at the end of the lesson, or if perhaps he should just look into the eye of the storm by going to say hi super casually. That should give him control over the situation if he made a move first, shouldn’t it?

He could feel a nervous pit growing in his stomach and bile starting to crawl up his esophagus, worse than it had been in awhile. It’d be a _very bad_ idea to attempt and eat anything today, especially in the cafeteria. Imagine if he threw up before he made it to the nearest toilet? That would be a public humiliation assured, at the very least.

When the bell finally rang, he found himself entirely frozen on the spot. He decided to appear as busy gathering his things as he could, to let Archie decide if he wanted to come for a chat or just leave in silence. It seemed that Archie had the exact same idea, and within two minutes they were the only ones left in the classroom, being almost forced to acknowledge each other. _Awkward._

‘Hey Ju…’

‘Arch’, it’s been...’

They both spoke at the exact same time. And laughed nervously too. The only thing that was working for Jughead in this context was that they had both remained at their respective desks, with a few feet separating them from each other. Not that it made the teenager more comfortable about anything, but it allowed him to picture a virtual shield protecting him from both intense scrutiny and judgment.

‘It’s good to have you back, man.’ Archie took the lead next, because only he had that kind of confidence.

‘Y-yeah, it’s good to be back.’ Jughead lied. ‘Good Ol’ Weatherbee is probably having a fit with all the extra people!’ _Just keep smiling_ , he told himself.

‘I guess.’ Archie half-heartedly laughed. ‘But erm. Anyway, how have you been?’

‘All good, not that much to report. You?’

‘Same. Everything’s fine.’

_Wow, this was tedious._

On both sides. It was so incredibly clear that things couldn’t be picked up just like that. Not after everything that had happened. Or rather everything that had _not_ happened. The regular visits, the honest talks, the ‘being real with each other', etc. There was just too much ground to cover to really hope and be successful with any such endeavor.

‘So, erm.’ Archie started again. ‘You… You’ve got English next?’

‘No, I’ve got study hall and then Art class.’

‘Ah, ok.’ Archie felt really stupid. He didn’t know what else to say. ‘Well, I guess I’ll see you around then.’

‘Yeah, of course.’

And with that Archie left the room. As soon as he turned around the next corner though, he immediately regretted the interaction. Yes, they’d managed to say hi, but _nothing_ substantial had come out of it. Jughead had smiled a lot but he seemed nervous, as if they didn’t actually know each other or as if it was a real effort to chat. And something looked different about him, a bit odd. They hadn’t seen each other in over two months by now, had he gotten taller or something?

 _Ohh, he’s definitely gone more emo,_ Kevin thought to himself having caught a glimpse of Jughead in Art class. The two had nodded politely to each other but before Kevin had the time to walk over at the end of the hour, he had disappeared already.

And perhaps it was better that way. Kevin was also treading waters because his boyfriend Fangs was now attending Riverdale High too. Even though it was great to have him around, Kevin needed to reconcile his private and public life which was everything _but_ easy. It was getting even more complicated knowing that he was the Sheriff’s son, and while his dad seemed rather supportive of the relationship, he’d specifically asked Kevin to remain very neutral in any further Serpents _or adjacent_ business. Which Jughead was by definition since his dad FP Jones was still the leader of the gang – and increasingly causing stir too.

In the midst of all his own thoughts and situations to sort out, Kevin never got around to asking Fangs or his friends Toni and Sweet Pea – who were both great additions in his life – what Jughead had been up to in his time at Southside High, or who he hung out with. Which was rather unfortunate because if he had, then perhaps he would have had a better picture of how lonely the teenager really was and how secluded he had become from any source of help.

Kevin really wasn’t uncaring, he was just too busy.

\---

It was a whole two days before Jughead ran into Betty. He’d already seen her in the hallways of course, but carefully and systematically turned the other way before she’d have the time to spot him.

When they nearly _crashed_ into each other though, at the corner of a hall in between two classes, he almost fell off with surprise and felt his throat suddenly bounce in his stomach.

And to be fair she looked just as shocked.

‘Jug, hey.’ She finally started with a hesitant smile.

‘B-b-betty.’ He managed to stutter out.

It took a whole ten seconds before anything else was said. _Jughead wanted to die_. He could feel her gaze inspecting him. Those big beautiful green eyes which still made him melt with just a flicker, but right now felt more like laser guns burning through his skin.

‘Ermm. So, you’re… back.’

‘Y-yeah.’

‘How are you?’

There was another pause.

‘Hey, how are Polly and the twins? They must be so big now.’ Jughead bluntly ignored her question because nothing he had to say about himself was really that interesting or relevant. And he just wasn’t going to lie about _how great he was doing, how thrilled he felt about seeing her, yadi yadi ya_ , because heck no. So being avoidant was the only attitude he could default to in this situation. As per the plan, keep it to a minimum.

She remained silent for half a second too long. As if she knew exactly what he was doing, having many years of practice in the language of Jughead’s insecurities.

But to herself, she immediately thought that she _couldn’t_ push him. She had lost that privilege the minute she had declared that they were over. He was obviously protecting himself by not answering her question and asking another one instead... but at least he was talking to her. So that was _something_ , and she had to accept this.

‘Yeah, they’re good.’ She said awkwardly. ‘Very active, they’ve been a handful but also a bundle of joy.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘So…’ Betty tried a new approach. ‘Are you gonna come back to the Blue & Gold? We could use a hand and, erm, we miss you there.’ Correction; _she_ missed him there. And everywhere. Everyday. And if any trust or bond could ever be re-established between them, this was most likely the way to do it. In a neutral yet common ground.

‘Hmm. Probably not. Not now anyway, I’ve been pretty busy.’

Oh.

Well, that was clear then… Jughead _hadn’t_ forgiven her. Writing was the one thing he loved doing above anything else and the Blue & Gold had become as much his pet project as hers. Even though originally she’d had to ‘rope him’ into taking up a position at the student newspaper, he had mentioned after - very seriously – that he loved it and would never quit. So if he wasn’t willing to come back now, it had most likely something - or rather _everything_ \- to do with her.

Feeling somewhat self-conscious in that very moment, she just politely wrapped up the conversation and walked away.

 _God this was killing her_.

She’d been thinking about him _a lot_ since the announcement of the schools' merger, and had been hoping to reconnect. At least on a friendly basis. Even though admittedly, it seemed very difficult given what had happened between them, and how badly she’d handled things.

Jughead was still _so_ attractive to her, the most handsome boy in Riverdale – or the entire world, all truths be told. Although he did seem very tired. Maybe more than usual? It was hard to say because however silly this may have sounded, she hadn’t actually managed to take a _good look_ at him. Mainly because his smile alone was making her too weak in the knees and shut down all her abilities to think rationally.

And he’d smiled _a lot_ , almost at odds with the Jughead she used to know, or the fact that his short answers reeked of rejection… So perhaps all the stuff she’d heard about him changing in the Southside was all true? And he was just trying to show her how well he was doing without her?

Maybe he’d started writing a new story too, explaining why he didn’t have any spare time to dedicate to the Blue & Gold, and why he stayed up late – in true Jughead style - enhancing his already pale features. That sounded _very_ plausible.

She certainly didn’t want to talk about it, not to anyone. Not even to Veronica who had tried to bring his name up a couple of times. Betty realized that she wasn’t ready _1_ to go there and face the consequences of her recent actions towards him. So, she gently but firmly pushed back and her best friend finally let it go.

Veronica hadn’t meant any harm in broaching this difficult topic. She knew that there was so much painful baggage to unpack, and she had taken the greatest care in the way she had raised it, to test the waters and see what Betty felt open to discussing. She’d understood very quickly that she wouldn’t be able to insist beyond a couple of mentions and just had to let it slide, at least for now.

But if her concern was primarily for her girl and her girl’s overall wellbeing - of course - there was also a small part of her that held a tiny question mark when she’d actually seen Jughead.

He was sitting with a book on some hidden staircase away from the school’s main corridors, and she wasn’t entirely sure whether she’d bumped ‘casually’ into him, or if she had been subconsciously _seeking_ him.

He was so concentrated on whatever he was reading that he’d only lifted his head once her high heels had come into view, and had just waited for her to open up the conversation.

And… he looked a bit _frightened?_

It was true that she’d been known to have a rather intimidating aura, even with her short height. A family thing probably, as her mother was equally impressive.

In any case, she’d never seen this particular look in Jughead’s eyes before, nor the general shyness that came off of him. His body language was all wrong too, as if he was trying to retreat further into himself. To recoil.

She couldn’t remember if he acted like this the first time they’d met at the beginning of the school year. It wasn’t like she knew tons about him to begin with. Still, it stayed with her for the rest of the day. His hesitation, his carefully chosen isolation, and the fact that he had seemed sort of… _low energy?_ Was it even an intelligible way to phrase her intuition about him?

But regardless of what she thought she was seeing or not, she needed to be considerate of the way she approached things with both Archie and Betty. She remembered _very well_ that her boyfriend had been so disheartened – to say the least – over his relationship with Jughead and had made many efforts which he felt had not been matched on the other side. And the breakup with her bestie was a whole different 'beast’ to tackle too, which still felt fresh in many ways…

And being relatively new to this friendship group Veronica needed to let all three – Archie, Betty and Jughead - sort things out between themselves first, because she did not fancy the idea of being thrown in the middle of their very _complicated_ status. 

Therefore, in order not to, she needed to refrain from interfering too much.

All things considered, _Archie_ was her ultimate priority. They’d been doing so well together and he had become such an important – dare she say _essential_ \- part of her life, that she needed to be supportive towards _him_ and take things at _his_ pace, before anything else. Even if it meant overlooking some of her instincts, to some extent.

To settle her feeling of unease, when Archie himself brought up Jughead yet again in the conversation that evening and lamented over the poor exchange they’d had, she lightly suggested that he text and offer his best friend to meet up.

‘Just a friendly gesture.’ She mentioned. ‘I know you’ve been waiting for him to manifest more interest organically, but maybe try one more time and see what comes back? Sometimes we have to give a little more to people, and that’s OK… It’s not all transactional, and I know that you’re very emotionally mature, _Archiekins_.’

That would do it.

She was pretty happy with that resolution. Because she felt that this way Jughead was being thrown a line and could grab the opportunity easily without having to compromise himself – if he’d been feeling awkward about anything for instance. It seemed like a sympathetic thing to suggest, without putting herself right in the center of everything.

Archie considered her words carefully. She was right. His relationship with his brother deserved _one more try_. Jughead was worth it. And Archie needed him too, it wasn’t as if he was _over_ them being friends, who would he be kidding with that silly notion?

\--- 

Jughead stared at Archie’s text for several minutes. Or more like several hours. It was very nice and neutral, it just said:

  * _Hey bro, how about going to Pop’s together this weekend? School isn’t the best place to catch-up and it’s been toooo long, man. Burgers on me!_



Archie was such a good guy, and so willing to bury the hatchet even though it was Jughead’s sole responsibility that they weren’t currently on speaking terms. He just wished he could say yes. His heart _really_ wanted to say yes, but his head was telling him to say no. For all the same reasons as before. It was so demoralizing.

Initially, he composed several text messages ranging from ‘I’d love that’ to ‘I’m sorry about before’ and ‘It’s all my fault’… Only to delete them _all._

Instead, the exchange went like this:

  * _Hi Arch, would love to but I can’t this weekend as I’m working… Rain check?_
  * _Sure. Just let me know when you’re free._
  * _Will do 👍🏼_



Jughead already knew that he _wasn’t_ going to do that. Not now anyway. Not until he could manage to get himself in a better place.

Refreshingly, however, it was something to aim for and perhaps if he waited ‘patiently’ for the summer break to come, then at least he wouldn’t have the Ghoulies to worry about for a bit. _One problem down, a million more to go._

So, he just had to hold on tight for 6 weeks. 6 _long_ weeks.

Then he’d get in touch with Archie and arrange to meet him, _for sure_. Between now and then he just had to try and get fitter, and work on what exactly he’d tell his best friend to justify the silence of the last couple of months. But hey, he was a writer after all… So, surely he could come up with the right words, no?

He would definitely _not_ tell him the complete truth about FP’s downfall and some – or rather _any_ – of the nasty things that had happened to him over the winter, but he’d find a way to open up and make peace with his brother. It was vital.

Because if he didn’t, Jughead was certain that he would not make it through the rest of high school.


	15. Chapter 15

Perhaps it was because Jughead finally had a goal date in mind of when he wanted to try and reach out to Archie, or perhaps it was because in the meantime _everything_ involved so much logistics about how _not_ to get compromised and have to talk to him - or any of the gang for that matter - that things suddenly slowed down _dramatically._

As if every single day was the length of a full lifetime that he had to go through alone, and steer like a sinking ship facing its demise in the unforgiving uproar of a forbidden frontier. Like an abandoned child of the gods’ fury about to meet its creator. Like an orphan in the storm.

Or perhaps more precisely, an orphan _of_ the storm. Standing and walking alone in a sea of other creatures that he no longer knew how to relate to.

By all means, Jughead understood and upheld the codes that allowed him to function within his restricted society composed of Riverdale High and his job at the warehouse – the only two places where he dared showing himself – such as getting up when required, smiling, nodding on cue, and so on and so forth. But now he only did this in order to blend into the background rather than to stand out. To disappear rather than to be seen. And it worked rather well actually. People rarely – _almost never_ \- asked him to open his mouth these days.

In fact, he’d kept track of how long he could go by without saying a single word to anyone – not even to FP as they tended to have different schedules at the trailer - and so far, his record was six days. Which had been a rather welcome break because ‘being invisible’ in itself was already a completely exhausting mission. Jughead felt that it was taking so much energy to become a professional wallflower that perhaps he could turn it into an Art of some sort and become a spy one day.

Since he was getting _extremely_ good at it.

Archie hadn’t insisted beyond his text to meet at the diner. He probably had taken offense to Jughead’s lack of buy-in, which was perfectly understandable. The two friends – well, _former_ friends – politely acknowledged each other in classrooms but didn’t seek any kind of dialogue beyond that, not even at their respective lockers or occasionally bumping into each other in the halls.

But that might also have been because Archie was exceptionally busy. As class president he had been put in charge of some aspects of the new students’ integration – ‘to show them a warm welcome’ had said Principal Weatherbee - which so far had been absolutely everything _but_ smooth.

Needless to say that tensions were high, rivalries already flaring and situations popping up on all sides. If it wasn’t Archie’s sole responsibility to oversee this – Cheryl Blossom had taken the project at heart when she’d laid eyes on a pretty Serpent member none other than Toni – he made it a point to intervene by showing tremendous leadership and openness in all occasions. He tried to recruit Southside High students for next year’s football team, convinced Cheryl to grant a few spots within the Vixens too and asked Veronica to make the prom theme about ‘forces joining together for a bright future. Something along those lines, you know…’

‘Hmm, sure! I can work with that Archiekins,’ she said, never turning down a good challenge, ‘how about _New Beginnings_? I mean technically it’s the end of the year but it could help prepare a new ground for back to school in the end of the summer.’

‘Yeah, that’s great Ronnie. Whatever you want, I know it will be fabulous.’ Archie was quick to delegate as his girlfriend _never_ made any mistakes of judgement and had already promised to involve new students in the planning committee, ensuring that they felt included and engaged.

Kevin really didn’t need to be asked to join the unification efforts, for obvious reasons and because to him anything was a great excuse for a good talent show. He offered to organize one swiftly with a ticketed entry, so that all proceeds could be used to fund further initiatives.

Lastly, Betty suggested adding a dedicated section to the yearbook she was already working on, with interviews and an in-depth ‘welcome’ article covering the extensive history of the two schools and the promise held in this proactive merger.

All of that kept everyone _very busy._

Certainly too busy to notice the sneakiness of some of the new students, who knew perfectly well how to benefit from the current chaos to keep going with their dirty little habits and target the most vulnerable in plain sight.

And those were of course Kurtz and his degenerates.

In fact, the Ghoulies had taken advantage of the rising ‘Bulldog vs Serpents’ argument to organize themselves in this new fertile playground that Riverdale High represented. It had occurred to them that the staff and administrative body would most definitely be stricter there, and consequences much higher if their bullying was ever caught.

But it also made it all the more exciting.

And they really needed new tricks to keep themselves entertained these days, as that idiot Jones was hardly any fun anymore. Months of beating him to a pulp had made him weak and unresponsive, and it was getting pretty boring to just watch him crumble without any sense of adventure. The only reason they kept doing it was because he was still a good punchbag, for the lack of anything else better to do.

But now with this unfamiliar setting, the kid’s newest and weirdest habits – _god_ he was looking more and more like a skittish prey, tip-toeing around everyone – and a fresh set of rules, the thrill and arousal were back. With a vengeance.

And so, after taking a few weeks to get to know the school’s blueprint and its blind spots, Jones’ schedule and hiding places – that moron was making it so easy for them – they planned a _great_ offensive in the middle of the day.

He was sitting on an abandoned staircase with a book and an apple, ‘ _almost looking cute’_ Kurtz thought as he spotted the familiar beanie. When Jones finally looked up, he didn’t even try to retreat. Granted, it would have been a bad move as the further up he would be, the further down he would be forcibly dragged.

To open the festivities, one of the guys pushed him backward with a violent kick and Jughead instantly felt his head meet the sharp edge of a step. _Thank god_ for his hat softening the blow, although not entirely unfortunately, as within seconds he recognized a familiar warm and sticky substance running through his hair.

Next thing he knew, Jughead was being yanked by both ankles and tugged along on the waxed floor. He didn’t even try to scream; he knew that he’d be gagged and hit even more if he so much as opened his mouth.

Instead, he attempted to free himself by twisting back and forth as much as he could and grip anything within reach, which only achieved the effect of exhausting him. They were three against one today – two to pin him on the ground at their eventual destination, leaving Kurtz free to deliver the most vicious moves - and he knew already that he was doomed... He had _not once_ managed to get away from them in the past, but always made it a point to try his hardest as a simple form of rebellion. Even if he knew that it was exactly what they wanted.

In his agitated state, Jughead still managed to wonder briefly what they had planned for him today, because Kurtz and his goons could display an incredible amount of creativity when it came to these merciless assaults.

The answer came almost immediately as they shoved him through the nearest male toilet, away from any bystander’s view. It had a clear ‘Out Of Order’ sign on it, making it the best place to carry out any sort of violence they wished without much risk of being caught.

And as much as Jughead _hated_ that he had developed this weird ability to envision what was just about to happen, his mind knew exactly what the Ghoulies had in store for him when they reached the nearest cubicle. Perhaps because it was one of the only chapters that had been left off so far in their _book of torture._ And one of the worst humiliations just yet.

Just seconds later, his intuition was confirmed when he found himself head plunged into a toilet, trying desperately to counter the weight of a heavy boot on his back and two pairs of hands holding him firmly underwater.

 _Sewage water_ , more precisely.

Jughead wailed like a slaughtered lamb, but the sound was too muffled to bear any warning potential outside of the secluded room, and all he managed was to choke on the disgusting liquid which entered through his nose and mouth.

And this didn’t even prevent further blows from coming his way. His back was exposed enough for the attackers to angrily test his bounciness. Which was terrible these days as he had zero body fat left to cushion his bones. But this didn’t stop them, and the fifty layers of clothing he was wearing were apparently deemed enough to absorb more punches.

After about two full minutes of thinking he was dying, Jughead entirely _stopped_ fighting it and let his body drop like a puppet, just waiting for it to actually happen. Correction; _wanting_ it to happen. His lungs were now almost filled up with water and in the next ten seconds he would probably drown. Correction again; he would _certainly_ drown.

So, heh… Why not? What exactly was he fighting for anyway? A potential conversation in an eternity from now with an estranged friend which would solve absolutely _nothing?_

And to be honest, it was not as if Jughead had hours on end to debate this deeply moving philosophical subject anyway; it all became an instantaneous fight or flight response that his body chose for him.

 _Flight_ – meaning _death_.

At this precise moment, he went numb and accepted – correction yet again, _welcomed_ – his fate. It felt just like Le Néant. It was still and soundless, without any sort of pain or fear, emotion or worries… It just _was_.

Finally, something he could actually cope with. Hmm. _To be or not to be. That is the question._ Isn’t it precisely? Even in his dying moment, Jughead managed to find the last spark of sarcasm that had once made him _him._

Right after this contemplation though, Jughead saw two things. Or rather two people. Betty; the love of his life, and Archie, the one and only family he ever truly had. In the short space of a cruel yet comforting second, Jughead got propelled back to that day on the diving board where he had felt so insecure and alone yet solemnly watched by his true companions. He then jumped even further in time – all the way to the treehouse… Almost as unsteady but with reassuring hands on both of his shoulders. One coming from each direction. Betty on one side, and Archie on the other.

_Two hands on his shoulders._

_Two hands on his shoulders,_ bracing him firmly.

 _Two hands on his shoulders,_ hoisting him upright.

 _Two hands on his shoulders_ , shaking him vigorously.

_…Jones…_

The sound echoed in all four corners of his mind like in a gigantic and empty dance hall.

_…Jones!..._

It ringed in a very funny way, come to think of it. _J_ and _S_ with vowels in the middle were made for a very dramatic speech, or at least a fairly striking sound. 

‘ _JONES, f_ or god’s sake! Wake the fuck up!’

Hmm. Not as funny anymore, a bit alarming actually. And closer to earshot than he had initially felt it.

‘ _JUGHEAD!_ Don’t you dare die on me, you fucking dimwit!’

In a fraction of a second, reality hit Jughead’s brain like a mad truck crashing into a hard wall at full speed. He gasped awake and startled back to consciousness, looking around him with bewildered eyes as if he’d been tased on an electric chair. As if he’d just gone through a butchered execution.

It took him half a minute to actually gather his strength and grasp his senses. And when he did, the only thing that fueled his body was anger. Proper _vexation._

Jughead was _so_ disturbed by the very idea of still being on this earth that he kicked right in front of him without any discernment. With _all_ his might. With every single ounce of life he had left in him.

Whoever it was that had found him and came up with the extremely stupid idea to revive him, they _weren’t_ Betty or Archie.

So they _weren’t_ on his side. It was as simple as that.

Betty’s or Archie’s face would have been the only two in the whole wild world who could have possibly calmed him down and talked him through breathing back to reason. But whoever it was in this instance, there were the _enemy_ right now. They had _forced_ him back to this hell hole when he was just about to reach a better place. His eternal oblivion.

_How fucking dare they?_

As he watched the _traumatized_ teenager storm off of the filthy bathroom like a disorientated and frenzied pup, Reggie Mantle shook his head to try and make sense of what he had just witnessed.

He’d been hanging out in the wrong place at the wrong time, like always. Maybe that was one of the many attributes that defined his ultimate alpha male status in this school, along with the fact people expected him to be up to no good against any attempt at proving them wrong.

In this particular case he had just been loitering silently in some empty hallways – simply because he could - when something had caught his attention. It was a woolen piece of clothing, with a stain on it. Was it… _Blood?_

On any other day he might have walked right past, except that there seemed to be prints of the same exact red shade a few feet further up, telling him that something bad had happened.

Reggie Mantle sure liked to call himself an agitator, because the term held just the right amount of irreverent insurgence. This was a known fact.

However, he was _no criminal._

He’d roughed up a few kids before – _yeah, yeah_ \- but no one else got to do it on school property. Not on his watch. That was one of his golden rules, because;

  1. it kept him on top of the food chain, but also
  2. it meant that he could control how far things were taken.



This present situation had _not_ been something he had ordered. And the very troubling thing was that he had instantly recognized the dripping item he found himself holding up like a piece of evidence.

It was Jughead Jones’ disgusting beanie looking like a sullied proof in a murder investigation.

Reggie nearly threw the hat away with shock, as if it was a ticking bomb on which he _did not_ want his fingerprints. Then suddenly, he saw the door to the nearest boys’ facilities burst open and three suspicious-looking juvie candidates weasel their way out like they’d just robbed a million-dollar bank, casually sporting an unsettling smirk of maleficent satisfaction all over their face.

Which he wasn’t about to let go. Oh no. Absolutely _no way._

Going years back, the Jones kid had been _his_ to play with, no one else’s. _And within reason_. He’d always been a complete lightweight, and while it was fun to watch him wave hands in all directions with a look of fright on his face, blood was a whole new game which was _totally_ off limits.

Reggie would set the boundaries with these miscreants as soon as he’d find out who his opponents were. And recruit a few Bulldogs to show once and for all who ruled this school.

But first he needed to inspect what they’d left of their victim.

As he pushed the door to the bathroom expecting his classmate on all fours, most likely having a panic attack – _classic Jones_ \- Reggie almost held his breath. The room was soundless. Sterile. Filled with a nauseating stillness.

It was almost haunting, and a voice in Reggie’s head was telling him to turn around, as if he was about to find something very disturbing. Still, he took a few hesitant steps towards the cubicles and eventually spotted it. Or rather _him._

A limp – almost skeletal – form on the floor, lying lifeless and undignified, completely unaware of himself or his surroundings. Looking so hopeless that if Reggie had decided to leave, he was pretty sure he’d read his name in the obituary the following week.

And that’s exactly when his instincts had _finally_ kicked in.

This couldn’t be.

Not even a year before, they’d lost a senior called Jason Blossom – fellow Bulldog, all-around good guy – due to unthinkable scheming and an extreme case of bad parenting. Enough was enough.

Jughead Jones, however freaking weird the kid had always been, did not deserve to be next on the list. In fact, he was about as innocent and harmless as anyone could be, which is probably one of the reasons why Reggie had picked on him in the first place. Because no matter how much he wanted to lie to himself, he’d always been a bit jealous of how wholesome and nice this little prick had been in all these years of knowing each other. Even if it was notorious that his home life on the Southside with a gang leader as a father was something out of a horror movie.

It was really stupid and counter-productive, but it had made Reggie’s skin crawl with envy that Jughead was so readily _capable_ of forgiveness, to the point of trying to teach him a lesson of self-defense by pushing him around unnecessarily. And to be honest it had _never_ worked.

With all these frantic thoughts jamming his mind in the space of a split second, Reggie had rushed down next to the _corpse_ , pulled him up against the dirty tiles and shaken him with all his might, back to life. Utterly taken aback by how much the boy seemed to have changed in the last few months. How unrecognizable he was up-close.

_Shit._

It took a whole two minutes before anything happened, giving enough time to Reggie to freak out and ponder frenetically if he should run to the principal’s office for help, or just continue his panicked attempt at resuscitation. He didn’t even know how to do CPR.

_God damnit._

He should have listened in football practice. Was Jughead breathing? It was hard to tell.

Reggie gave the kid a few slaps in the back - aware that he might be making things worse but feeling completely out of options - and just when he was about to _actually pee his pants_ he finally saw Jughead jerk awake, throw up a mixture of water and slimy fluid on himself and all over the floor, then open flickering eyes with a deranged air of confusion.

 _Pfeww._ _Close-fucking-call._

They wouldn’t have to bury a new body this month after all. But maybe it would happen the next to be honest, because Jones looked about two inches away from death anyway. _Was his homie Andrews aware of this?_

Before Reggie could come up with any sort of compassionate statement however, Jughead scampered away from him on his hands and knees, and started hiccupping fearful insults with a look of fury flashing over his tired lines.

The kid managed to push himself up somehow and ran away on wobbly feet before Reggie could reassure him that he was here to help. Which to be fair wasn’t that surprising seeing how many times it had _not_ been the case in the past.

The tall Bulldog was left completely baffled by the whole scene - still holding the precious hat Jughead had not even tried to retrieve from him – and swore to himself that _never_ in his entire life he would bully a single soul like he had before.

Because he never wanted to be _that guy_ again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple more chapters of this hell, and then something big is going to happen... Hmm. I'll update soon x


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys - thank you *SO MUCH* for the lovely comments and getting ‘excited’ with me 😆 It’s good to hear that I’m not the only one following the plot (otherwise trust me, I very much feel like a lonely girl on her laptop with a glass of wine) and it totally helps to get motivated and write more.  
> So here’s one to say thank you 🥰 My upcoming week is going to be a bit busy unfortunately but I promise Chapter 17 by the end of next weekend max. Because it’s going to be so hard to leave you (and myself) hanging where this one ends x x

Jughead wasn’t sure how he’d made it back to the trailer. He’d been operating on some sort of auto-pilot mode, performing the very repetitive synchronized dance of keeping his head down, dragging his feet all the way to Sunnyside, pushing himself into the house, and plucking his clothes off in agonizing movements to _finally_ find shelter under the warm streak of the shower.

He skipped the customary ‘post-encounter inspection’ as he didn’t have the strength to see how horrifyingly brutalized his body looked – yet again - and didn’t think he could stay upright long enough to analyze the finer details _and_ scrub himself like a maniac. Given that the latter most definitely _needed_ to happen if he ever wanted to consider his own skin remotely tolerable again.

As he started the compulsive motions, the water in the drain turned a nasty shade of red almost immediately, reminding him of the gash somewhere in the back of his head. He ran a trembling hand through his hair to locate it, and felt a sting when his fingers met a cut at the lower base of his skull. It was about an inch and half wide and hurt like _hell,_ but the bleeding seemed to have stopped, and therefore Jughead judged that he probably didn’t need stitches.

He could use shampoo as an antiseptic - even though it was most likely going to aggravate the pain - which would also serve the purpose of rinsing the horrible toilet water which he swore he could still smell in his nostrils, and taste in his mouth.

Somewhere half-way through this procedure though, Jughead started to feel _very_ dizzy. He’d naturally turned the water on to the highest setting to try and keep himself warm, but steam was a real bitch these days and made his head spin like a merry-go-round in the space of two seconds. He had a quick decision to make; either turn the temperature down but get cold, or sit on the floor and wait for the sensation to pass. Or third possibility; just pass _out._

Whichever honestly.

Jughead arbitrarily chose option #2 and slid along the wall into a messy heap of limbs. His heart was pounding a little too fast for his liking – the heat again – and he had no choice but to wait it out.

In that moment, he briefly thought about the waste of water and electricity this whole process would mean. _Again._ Not that he was too stressed about the money as he was the one paying those bills so he could ‘splurge’, but more in the sense of how much resources his frequent bullying and subsequent clean-up sessions were costing to the planet. A few thousand gallons of water and a few thousand kilowatts by now… Just to wash away the sins of others. Should he consider himself wasteful too because he hadn’t made a proactive effort to stand up to his assailants?

 _The mind wanders off to very strange places sometimes_ , he thought next. He closed his eyes and tried to picture something happy. Something comforting, to help him slow down the mad thump pulsing in his veins.

But _nothing_ came.

Betty’s face appeared incongruously, raising Jughead’s heartbeat to an even more distressing level until he managed to more or less banish the thought away.

Eventually, as he reached the limit of the trailer’s small tank, the water turned tepid on its own and the teenager carefully pulled himself up to finish ‘disinfecting’ his hair and body. He wanted to go lay on his bed just wrapped up in a towel - as the effort involved with putting on some pajamas seemed unfathomable - but knew all too well that he’d wake up freezing in an hour from now if he gave up, and didn’t want to risk catching a cold.

Therefore, at the speed of a tortoise, he limped to the bedroom and executed the exhausting routine, finally collecting his reward in the form of a comforting duvet and pillow which hugged him closer than anything or anyone had _in months._

And then Jughead waited for sleep to come.

But it didn't.

He _knew_ in about twenty seconds that it would be a pointless exercise to try and provoke it, and recognized almost instantly the anxious energy that was still burning in him, stuck somewhere between his chest and his throat - _demanding_ to get out.

It was a discernible core of nervous matter, creeping up and down his system, tapping the tense walls of his inner being to make a statement about his soul, requesting to _scream_ when he couldn’t.

‘ _Oh for fuck sake_ , get it over with already!’ He blurted out loud, trying to make himself have the panic-attack faster. That’d be convenient, that’d put him to sleep. It wasn’t an ideal way to get rest, but he didn’t have any other brilliant idea and just needed for it to explode or pass. Either way. _But now please._

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the way things worked. Jughead couldn’t summon the fit, and it stayed stuck in him, holding him prisoner from the _inside_. Like a hiccup or a sneeze that just won’t give.

He successively tried breathing slower, breathing faster, _stopping to_ breathe altogether. He forced himself to get up and pace, lie on the cold floor totally still, massage his throat and sternum.

He inhaled deeply, held for ten seconds, exhaled even more exaggeratedly. He tried to meditate, to cry, even to sing.

But. Nothing. Was. Working.

The invisible force was simultaneously pushing out of him and holding him down, like the opposite powers of two contrasting nuclear elements. And it happened to be in this exact moment that Jughead realized something.

_He simply couldn’t do it anymore._

He couldn’t live like this any longer, always on the edge. Always on the brink of a crisis. Always about five feet away from an impending disaster that he had to personally absorb.

He was broken. And sinking. _Very very fast._

He needed help. _Right now._

He slumped at the foot of his bed, knees drawn to his chin and head buried in his hands. As he felt his hair fall into his eyes, he realized that he had absolutely _no idea_ what had happened to his beanie, and tears started rolling down his cheeks. It was such a trivial detail – some might have thought - but it made him feel _so_ naked. Utterly defeated. Stripped of the last protective shield and last ounce of dignity that he had managed to keep all these years. He rocked a bit on the spot, inconsolable and deprived of any hope.

Jughead was going to _die_ , he knew it.

A very meek part of his mind had identified this inevitable outcome awhile ago – he wasn’t stupid or blind - but his more assertive self had simply _refused_ to address the predicament. Mainly because the mountain to climb in order to restore any sort of sustainable level again seemed _entirely_ out of reach. Especially alone.

And therefore, Jughead had preferred to ignore his own perceptible anguish. It had felt easier to just keep going. To keep trying. Even if it meant _to keep failing._

But now, however, the precipice seemed so very near, and he was finding himself in a dead-end. _Quite literally_. Completely overwhelmed and incapable of commanding his own brain or body anymore.

Jughead would have honestly welcomed his own demise at this point - if it just were for him, death truly seemed like the kindest way out – except that… who would look after FP when he was six feet under?

_FP._

Jughead sighed heavily.

_FP. Dad._

Maybe that’s who he needed to talk to? He _knew_ that his father loved him deep inside, despite everything, and he also happened to be the last person he really had access to. And he’d be home in a couple of hours, hopefully.

It was true that for many reasons Jughead had systematically rejected the idea of opening up to his dad about the Ghoulies in the past, because he had feared that it would trigger a nasty setback that would complicate things. But right now, the possibility of a sober FP was long gone and forgotten anyway, so there wasn’t much to try and protect anymore.

As he contemplated his very limited options, Jughead hugged his legs closer and rested the side of his head on his bony knees. He was cold, stiff and incredibly uncomfortable on the floor, but he couldn’t move from the spot. He didn’t actually have the power to do that; the anxiety hadn’t left him at all and in this moment it very much _owned_ him.

The only two things he was physically capable of doing right now were to breathe shakily, and wait. 

\---

FP didn’t come back until late. Which meant that he’d been on a night out. Which meant that he was drunk as he passed the doors of the trailer and collapsed on the sofa. Which meant that Jughead should have really stayed _away._

But he couldn’t, not after the horrifying experience and realization he’d just gone through. He didn’t think of any strategy or the tone he would adopt when breaching the difficult subject he had kept hidden from his father for all these months. He didn’t have the capacity to think straight right now, and all he managed successfully was to pick himself up, walk soundlessly like a ghost throughout the tiny home and stand in the living room a couple of feet away from his father, with wriggling fists.

He then tried to gather his strength and say a few words, but nothing came. It was unclear if FP was already sleeping – he did have his eyes closed – or just taking a small break before removing his shoes and leather jacket.

Jughead remained there, observing him for a couple of minutes, unsure of what to do next. Perhaps the easiest was to go back to his room. Ignore his problems a little while longer. Pretend that he was fine.

And then suddenly FP jerked awake.

‘What the hell, boy!’ He half-shouted. ‘You scared me. What are you doing standing there like that like a creep?’ He hoisted himself on his elbows.

‘I… I just wanted to talk to you.’

FP let himself sink back and groaned. The type of groan that meant _I can’t do this right now Jughead. Go away._

‘Tomorrow, boy. You need to sleep and so do I. Go back to bed.’

‘Please dad, it’s important.’ Jughead approached carefully and sat on the edge of the sofa, just inches away. ‘I have a, erm… a situation.’

FP looked at him with glassy eyes. He had zero patience to hear about any high school drama right now, having too many of his own fires to put out. This week alone, he’d narrowly avoided the arrest of two Serpent kids, dealt with a full-on fight at the Wyrm over some borrowed money and deescalated a growing rebellion with more senior members who had disobeyed his orders repeatedly.

FP Jones had dark embers of his own brewing in him, and knew he better send his son back to his room before it decided to come out against his will.

But Jughead insisted on airing his theatrics at this precise moment anyway, and was stuttering some weird story about him not being able to control something or someone. _Oh Jesus,_ he was tergiversating as well - _in true Jughead fashion_ \- completely unable to go straight to the point. His speech was all so unclear that it was giving FP a headache. Or rather intensifying the one he already had.

But then one word stood out. _Ghoulies._

FP snapped straight out of his own chaotic mind when he heard the demonic name that had come out of his son’s lips. He’d been having a full-on war lately with the rival gang, on top of everything else, and felt an electric shock prick his entire body at the very mention. He abruptly sat up next to his son, considerably more imposing given his size and weight.

‘Jughead, what did you do?’ His tone was sinister and Jughead looked up with fearful eyes. What was his dad talking about? Had he not heard what he’d just said?

‘Nothing dad, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.’

‘What did you get mixed up with, boy? Why are you even talking to these rats?’

‘I’m not, I swear, it was all circumstantial.’ Jughead was so worn out. Why was his dad putting him on the accused bench right now, when he was trying to tell him that they’d been beating him up horribly since day one of his arrival at Southside High.

‘I don’t want you near them, do you understand?’

Jughead’s breathing picked up speed. He was facing _mean FP_ , who seemed to have the wrong wheels turning in his head and imagined that he’d somehow made _friends_ with his attackers.

He should have just nodded compliantly but made the mistake of trying to defend himself, with an unbridled intensity to his voice due to the anxiety flaring up again.

‘Dad you’re not listening, I’m not…’

‘No, _you’re_ not listening boy!’ FP grabbed his son’s wrist to catch his attention once and for all. He needed to make himself _very_ clear. ‘Jughead, if I hear from anyone that you have been talking or colluding with any of these lunatics, I’m going to get _extremely_ mad. Do you understand?’

Jughead’s fear and pain shot up to a maximum. His dad’s grip was so strong that it brought tears to his eyes immediately. His bones were being crushed under the pressure and all he could do was nod frantically.

‘Do you understand? Say it boy!’

Jughead was drawing a long breath to answer the question when they _both_ felt it. A distinctive crack vibrating through his arm all the way to his elbow.

FP instantly released him with a look of shock and horror on his face. _He’d done it again._ Jughead remained completely still as a wave of pain reached his brain in successive spasms. He was starting to see stars in the corner of his eyes and felt his ears ring with a high-pitched sound.

‘Jug!’ His dad screamed frenetically. ‘Jug… _Jug!_ ’

Jughead picked up his own arm slowly with his other hand, cuffing it protectively against his chest.

‘Is it broken, boy? Can you move it?’ FP was panicking. He hadn’t meant to hurt his son like this. Or rather at all. _Bones were not meant to snap that easily_.

He could see Jughead’s pale lips shake, but no sound came out of them. His boy kept his eyes shut tight and seemed to be too paralyzed to speak. Was it pain? Was it fear? _Was it both?_ Had FP managed to terrify his own son?

‘Jughead, speak to me. _Please_ , I’m sorry. I’m so sorry boy.’

FP ran a hesitant hand on his son’s back and pulled him carefully into a hug. He seemed so small underneath his oversized hoodie. So frail. When had this happened? FP started feeling a nauseating sensation of uneasiness grow in him.

He was a _terrible_ father. His boy had been wasting away right under his nose, like an uncatered houseplant left in a dark garage, and he had failed to see it. Or worse yet, a part of him had been seeing it all along but had chosen to ignore it. And it happened to be in this exact moment that FP realized something.

_He simply couldn’t do it anymore._

He couldn’t be a father. He wasn’t cut out for the role. Never had been. Especially to Jughead, a kid at the antipodes of everything he knew and understood. Why had he even asked him to come back... Was it a sense of pride? Was it to restore his feeble manhood? Was it because when he looked in his son’s eyes, they gleamed with a deep sense of unfaltering trust and love that _no one_ else in this entire world gave him?

As these contemplations came crashing one after the other, FP held on to his son tighter. So tight that he was now worried he would break something else. Jughead was softly crying and held on back to him, with what seemed to be very little energy but all that he had to give nonetheless. He still hadn’t said a word but his body language spoke a thousand times louder.

The poor kid was at the end of his rope. Burning the very last drop of oil that fueled his candlelight, his beautiful flame threatening to flicker out for good.

He needed help. _Right now._

‘Jug, listen to me. I’m gonna take you to the hospital tomorrow morning. I’ll call the school to say that you’ll be missing for awhile and then I’ll borrow someone’s car so I can take you.’

Jughead coughed slightly and whispered;

‘But dad, you can’t do that. They’ll ask how this happened, we might get into trouble.’

‘No, _I’ll_ get into trouble. And that’s OK Jug, I _should_ get into trouble. I’m not fit to be your father.’

More tears fell down on the teenager’s cheeks.

‘They’ll take away your custody. And Sheriff Keller will come sniffing for more information on you and everything you’ve been up to with the Serpents. Dad… I don’t know if I’ll be able to lie.’ His tone was so apologetic, as if it was his fault for being too honest.

‘I wouldn’t ask you to, Jughead.’

‘Then you’ll go back to prison dad, and I don’t want that.’

‘Listen to me son, this _isn’t_ working. Me, you… Us. You’re suffering and if this continues I’m… _I’m going to kill you, Jughead._ Without meaning to.’

‘No dad, that’s not true!’ He was clearly panicking now. ‘I’ve made some mistakes too; I should have spoken up a long time ago. We could have figured things out together. I just didn’t know how.’

‘It wasn’t your job to handle everything. And either way Jug, you need help. I’m not sure I can give it to you… I keep making things worse.’

But his son _wouldn’t_ hear it.

‘No. _No_ , dad. Remember Christmas? It was so great. We had turkey and we played chess. We watched a movie together and laughed like idiots. We did it then. _We can do it again._ ’

Jughead’s voice was so small that it was barely audible. He was firmly nestled inside his dad’s arms and wouldn’t let go.

‘It was _one day_ Jughead. That doesn’t mean I’m good for you.’

‘No, not just one. We had a lot more like that. When you don’t drink they are _all_ like that, dad.’

‘When I don’t drink.’ That was the statement that summed it all up.

‘But you _can_ stop. I know it. You’re brave and you’re strong. I’ll help you!’

 _Oh man._ How could it be that his sixteen-year-old son was pep-talking him about something he thought himself incapable of, right after having been _abused_ horribly. FP wanted to puke.

His life had fallen so low. He had just hit complete rock-bottom and the disgust he felt for himself was at his all-time high.

And _he just knew_. He knew he couldn’t do it anymore. Even prison was something he felt more comfortable with at this point.

FP kept his son in his arms until Jughead fell asleep, completely drained and heartbroken, tear stains still visible on his hollow cheeks. Even then, he repositioned the teenager slightly to make sure that he wouldn’t get any stiffness aches, but maintained his grip as if it was the last time he was holding his boy.

Because it probably was.

A bright full moon piercing through the window and thin curtains highlighted Jughead’s injured wrist, which had been carefully positioned on top of him to avoid further damage. When FP’s eyes met the purple and blue skin on several occasions, he’d get a throb in his heart and an instant reminder that he needed to make a decision about what was going to happen the next day.

Triggering what was going to happen next to Jughead and to him, _altogether._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💔 💔 💔


End file.
